


A Lion Tamed

by StuffandThangs11



Series: A Lion Tamed [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Abduction, Anal Fisting, Anal Plug, Barebacking, Breathplay, Cage Trauma, Cages, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Piercing, Coercion, Emotional Manipulation, Enemas, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Genital Piercing, Hand Feeding, Hospitals, Human Trafficking, Humiliation, Manipulation, Master/Pet, Medical Examination, Medical Experimentation, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Mental Coercion, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Nipple Piercings, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Spanking, Objectification, Past Rape/Non-con, Pedophilia, Photography, Piercings, Pony Play, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding Crops, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Situational Humiliation, Stockholm Syndrome, Tongue Piercings, Torture, Unconscious Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 64,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6428668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuffandThangs11/pseuds/StuffandThangs11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the episode 8x18 - Restoration</p><p>What if Carl Buford didn't die?  What if he lived and escaped from prison?  This is going to be an AU where this happens.  It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted.  If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A chill shudders through his body, goose bumps rising over his skin. He should get up and turn on the heater, Derek thinks, but he's tired, his mind groggy in a way that makes him sink deeper into the sheets beneath him. Maybe it's okay to lay here for a bit longer no matter how cold he is, even if he doesn't remember coming to bed last night. He's keen enough to know that something isn't right although he isn't sure what or why yet. Derek tries to focus his thoughts, tries to take stock.

His last memory is of getting back from Quantico after a job with the BAU. Rossi and Reid had invited him out for Friday night drinks and Derek had declined. He was just ready to be home after closing a rough case. He'd walked into his house, kicked off his shoes and opened a beer from the fridge. He'd settled on the couch and fallen asleep to the sounds of the television on ESPN.

Now, in taking stock of himself, Derek realizes he's naked. The room is dark save for the moonlight and street lamps filtering in from the windows. He's lying on his stomach on sheets that smell and feel familiar enough to tell him he's in his own bed. In trying to shift though, that's when he feels the restraints at his wrists and his ankles. He's face down, spread eagle on his own bed, and he can't move. 

Panic starts to rear its ugly head and he momentarily loses himself to yanking at the restraints. They're so tight that they barely have any give to them. He fights it for about a minute before he tells himself to calm down. He's going to wear himself out and he has to pick his battles. Slowly, his breathing turns back to normal, he relaxes his muscles and he waits.

"About time you woke up, boy."

Derek knows that voice the instant he hears it. It's the stuff of nightmares for him, the tenor of it, the inflection of it. But it should be impossible for him to be here. Carl Buford is in prison, serving a life sentence. Derek has just seen him there a few months ago. There's no way --

The bed dips with the weight of someone sitting on the side of it. Derek holds his breath as a hand slides up the back of his leg, up over his backside, all the way up his back to his shoulders before sliding back down and landing on one ass cheek to squeeze at the rounded flesh there. For a brief moment he feels nauseated and again his breathing quickens with panic. He pulls at his restraints again to no avail. Then he forces himself to calm down again.

"Told you you were always my favorite, Derek." Carl says, pressing his finger into Derek's tight hole, already slicked up and prepared while he was sleeping. "You've been so high and mighty, actin' like you're better than... Gonna start puttin' you in your place right now."

The ease with which Carl slides one finger then two and three inside of him speaks toward things being done to him while he'd been unconscious. The fogginess in his mind, he now realizes, speaks toward being drugged. Again, Derek fights nausea. He has to stop this. He has to stall until he can get away or until someone knows what's happening. Carl's not in prison. Someone has to know that he's escaped.

"Carl." He finds his voice, trying to temper the anger that wants to pour out of him and keep his tone calm and conversational. If he can just get Carl to talk instead of doing anything else. "You know this isn't right. You know you're not supposed to be-"

"Stop."

"Carl..."

"Stop, Derek." Carl says, his own voice eerily calm. "I want you to admit somethin' for me." His fingers continue to probe Derek's insides. "Admit that you've always wanted me. Admit that you're nothin' but a whore beneath all that bluster. Admit you liked bein' on your knees. Admit you liked me touchin' you. Admit this, the way I'm touchin' you right now, admit it feels good."

Derek exhales a quick breath, trying to figure out how to play this, how to get out of it. "That's more than one something."

Carl's hand slaps down hard on Derek's ass. "Gonna have to do somethin' about that smart mouth of yours." The older man climbs on top of Derek and leans down over the top of him. His fingers push hard up inside of Derek, hitting that spot that makes Derek's entire body jerk on the bed. His breath is warm against Derek's ear. "Gonna make you my whore. Should've never let you go."

There are no words for how much Derek hates that his cock, pressed to his own sheets, is reacting to this. It's part of Carl's game, getting Derek's body to react and making him feel ashamed of it. Derek hides that shame with anger that's been welling inside of him and finally explodes as he tries to jerk at the restraints again. "You go to hell. You hear me? You go to hell!"

Another slap to his ass and then the sound of a zipper and shuffling of material. Carl's thick shaft pushes brutally inside and Derek has a moment to be thankful for whatever has slicked him up already before the older man starts raping him, fucking so hard that Derek's body jerks with each thrust. Tears fill his eyes and Derek closes them, unable to fight what's happening. He does what he's always done when Carl has been with him like this, he finds that place in his mind that disassociates him from what's happening. Derek is essentially no longer here even as his body is being used and abused.

It isn't the only time he has to do this over the next two days. Carl fucks him all of Saturday and into Sunday. Derek loses count of how many times the older man touches him, manhandles him, and defiles him in between sleeping next to him in his bed. All the while he keeps calling Derek a whore. It isn't often that Derek wishes he were called into work for a case. But if he didn't answer a call then someone would know something is wrong. His phone never buzzes, never rings.

It's Sunday evening and Carl has just pulled out of him. Derek feels the warm-wet of cum sprayed over his backside as his mind snaps back into the present from wherever he disappears to when he takes himself out of a situation. He feels it dripping out of his ass and he just wants to shower. He wants to be clean so fucking bad.

Carl lies down beside him with his head rested on Derek's restrained arm. "Tomorrow's Monday. I know people are expectin' to see you." The man rolls to his side and his fingers dip in his own spunk to spread it out over Derek's back. "I'm gettin' a place ready for us, boy, a place where you and me can be together. I'm gonna do what I always should'a done. Gonna teach you to be the whore you always should'a been. You wanna be a whore, Derek?"

"Fuck you." Derek whispers low.

The older man laughs and pulls away and out of Derek's periphery he can see the man open a case and produce a bottle and syringe. He makes quick work of filling the syringe up, then unceremoniously jabs the needle into Derek's butt cheek. "You ruined my life, Derek. I'm gonna ruin yours, you fucking whore."

That's the last thing Derek hears before whatever drug he's been given takes him under.

 

* * *

While immobilized over the weekend, Derek has had a lot of time to think. Since Buford has been imprisoned, Derek has kept tabs on him. He usually gets a phone call if anything out of the ordinary happens with the man. Another person who keeps tabs on Buford is Hotch. If there's anyone who could buffer the information that Derek is getting, it's Aaron Hotchner.

When Derek wakes up Monday morning he's alone and unrestrained. His bed is covered with the signs of sex, both his own and Carl's cum. He wants to take a shower so badly, but he stops himself. He dresses in jeans and a tee and gets in his car to head to the hospital. Really, his intent is to go to the hospital, but somehow he ends up at Quantico.

Derek enters the FBI Headquarters and makes his way up the elevator. He has tunnel vision and can't stop himself as he pushes open the glass doors so hard that he's surprised they don't break.

"Morgan. What's..."

He bypasses Reid, slips up the steps and finds Rossi and J.J. in Hotch's office. He only has eyes for Aaron. He grabs Aaron's collar and pushes him back against the blinds lining the windows with David and J.J. protesting. "Why didn't you tell me? What'd you do, Hotch? Huh? What'd you do??"

"Hey. Morgan." Rossi's hand is on Derek's arm.

Something snaps when he's touched and Derek lets go of Hotch and steps back quickly, almost bumping into Reid behind him. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me."

J.J. looks worriedly to Derek. "Derek what is it?"

Derek only glares at Hotch and all eyes turn on the unit chief when he's the one who speaks. "You saw him?" Hotch's eyes glance down to Derek's wrists, the dark skin reddened and bruised from where he had been restrained.

"Saw who?" Reid asks.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Derek asks, some of the anger in his features shifting to hurt. "Why didn't I know? I should've known, Hotch."

"Hotch." J.J. warns.

Aaron swallows hard and keeps his eyes on Derek as he speaks. "Carl Buford escaped prison last week."

The reactions were instant. Rossi's eyes roll up to the ceiling. Reid looks concerned to Derek. J.J. keeps looking at Hotch, her own anger shinning through. Derek just stands there with his back to the wall, waiting.

"I thought we could clean it up before it affected you." He tells Derek. "Did he hurt you?"

Derek smirks but there's no humor in it. Did Carl hurt him? "I should've known." He whispers.

Reid notices Derek's wrists too, studies his body language. "He raped you." It isn't a question. "You need to get to a hospital. Have you showered?"

Derek shakes his head. "I meant to go to the hospital."

"I'm sorry." Hotch says, then hesitates as if he wants to say more, but then doesn't. He stands upright, chin lifted a bit, every bit the unit chief of the BAU. "Reid is right. You need to get to a hospital. Was it at your house? We need to get CSI over there."

"My house." Derek answers with a nod. He stares at Hotch. "I kind of hate you right now." Even though it's illogical, even though he knows that there's probably nothing any of them could have done to stop it, Derek's anger has to go somewhere. Hotch seems to be where he's direction it. And the other man seems to be accepting of it.

"I know. And I'm sorry." Aaron looks to Rossi, who's remained silent thus far. The look Rossi gives him is one that isn't at all pleased. "Will you get him to the hospital? Stay with him at all times. Get his statement."

Rossi nods slowly. "You got it."

 

* * *

 

At the hospital, Derek struggles through letting the doctors check him and take samples from his skin. He tells Rossi his statement as if he's reading from a case file, detached and distant, as if he's stating facts that happened to someone else.

"He didn't say anything else about this place he's putting together?" Rossi asks. When Derek just shakes his head, he speaks again. "Hey. You're right. Hotch should've told you."

"I know." Derek, sitting on the side of the hospital bed in one of those gowns that open in the back, looks up to David. "I also know why he didn't."

"Yeah."

The door to the hospital room opens and Penelope walks in with a bouquet of flowers, a basket of candy and a stuffed lion, all of which she deposits on the bed next to Derek. "Hey, you." She hesitates just a moment and then goes in for a hug.

Derek flinches, but then finds himself okay with the hug. It's Penelope. "Hey, baby girl. I'm all right. I'm okay."

"Yeah?" She pulls back and looks him over, gaze lingering at his wrists and ankles. "Because I wouldn't be all right. I'd be the opposite of all right. In fact I'd be pretty pissed and not okay. Which is why..." She grabs the stuffed lion and pushes it to Derek's chest until he has no choice but to take it. Then she opens a bag of skittles. "Stuffed animals and candy. The... the lion made me think of your tattoo."

A smirk escapes his lips and Derek holds onto the stuffed lion and glances down to the tattooed lion head on his left arm. He holds his palm up and takes a handful of skittles from her.

"You know lions are brave. People try to tame them but they're always wild and powerful." She says. "You're the bravest, strongest person I know, Derek Morgan. But you don't have to be okay with what happened."

"Maybe I'm not okay." Derek says, shrugging. "Maybe I need to pretend to be brave and strong right now."

"If that's what you need, okay. But don't do it on my account." She cups either side of his face. "I'm here for you. We all are. Okay?"

"Okay." Derek nods.

"And on that note, we should get out of here and let him get dressed." David rests a hand on Penelope's arm and together they start out of the room. "We'll be right outside."

Once they're gone, Derek slides off of the bed, feeling the ache in his limbs, strained muscles from when he'd struggled against the binds all weekend. He even hurts where he'd been fucked too many times to name. He hates that, the ghost of what Carl had done to him. He sets the lion down on the bed and gets his clothes.

Lions are brave, Penelope had said. Brave and strong.

That ghost of the weekend whispers one word in his ear, reminding the lion in him of how he'd been held down, unable to move, raped for days. The whisper almost sounds real to the point that Derek turns his head only to see no one there. The word echoes as he pulls his clothes on.

_Whore._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.
> 
> This chapter: Derek tries to find Carl and understand the men who escaped with him. He gets caught in Carl's web.

"He escaped last Tuesday, along with four other men from his cell block. I got the phone call and asked them to keep it between us. I... thought the police would find him before you had to know about it." Aaron flips through images on the screen in the war room, showing the exit to the prison where deliveries are made, the food van the inmates had commandeered, the dead bodies of the actual delivery men, each with their throat sliced.

Derek sits at the round table where the BAU team usually discusses their case files before boarding the jet and getting to where they need to go. He stares at the images, imagining what it must have taken to get out of the prison. "Inside help?"

"If any of the guards helped them escape, it isn't obvious. I have Penelope looking into their backgrounds now." Aaron presses some buttons and puts up the photos of the four inmates that escaped with Buford. He looks to Derek, silently asking if any of them look familiar.

When Derek simply shakes his head, Aaron continues. "After your visit with him, Buford started spending more time in the computer rooms. His Internet history shows that he's been pulling clips of you from the Internet; interviews on news stations and the like. He became obsessed. The wall of his cell was wallpapered with images of you, printed off in the computer lab. According to some of the other inmates, he was telling them in graphic detail about his history with you, about the things he was going to do with you."

"He must have neglected to tell them how old you were when he did those things." David counters, his frustration over the entire matter clear. "We all know what happens to pedophiles in prison."

"Or the four men he escaped with didn't care about it." J.J. adds.

That same nausea that has been plaguing him since he woke up tied to his own bed rolls in Derek's stomach unbidden. Of course, working with the BAU, he knows that there are no shortage of sick and disturbed people out there. On the job, they've seen some of the worst. If his visit with Buford has awakened a new level of obsession within the man, then Derek's in trouble. The police should have caught Buford by now, or any of the other four men. It's been two days now since Derek had stormed into the offices and attacked Hotch to get answers. That means it's been a week since Buford escaped. A week is a long time for inmates to be on the run. Derek has been staying at a hotel for the past two days, uncomfortable with going back to his house just yet.

"Derek."

Hotch's voice cuts into Derek's thoughts. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "He got into my house. He must have been in there when I got home. Need to change the locks, update the security system."

"It's taken care of." Aaron says quickly, his guilt over not telling Derek about the prison escape having spurred him into action. "A security detail will be assigned to you until Buford is back in custody."

Derek starts to protest, then decides against it. The ordeal of a few days ago is still fresh in his mind, bruises healing on his skin. Yeah, a security detail is a good idea.

 

* * *

 

The next week is spent under constant watch. Derek hasn't yet been able to bring himself to go back to his house except to fill a bag with necessities and clothes and get back out. Someone has put fresh sheets on his bed and made it up. On the surface, no one would ever know that Buford had tied him to his own bed and raped him for two days straight.

Locked away in his hotel room, he delves into the profiles of the four men who escaped with Buford, each imprisoned for some form of sexual assault. Derek knows their profiles backward and forward by the next weekend and into the next week. Each of them are terrible people, of course. He has to wonder if they helped Buford get into his house, if they were there while Buford did what he did to him, if they're still with Buford.

Derek is tailed by his security team into work and out of work. The team sits outside of his hotel room after work. Derek is never truly alone. He likes that for now.

 

* * *

The week after that, Buford still hasn't been caught. There's no sign of the other four men he escaped with either. The BAU is called out of town on another case and Derek is so glad to get out of the DC area he can hardly stand it. Their case takes them to Texas and he stays there working with the rest of the team for the next three days.

They get back on a Sunday and Derek meets his security detail and they follow him back to his hotel room. He's almost sad to be back. His hotel room is sad and lonely and impersonal.

Derek falls back onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling. The impact of his falling back causes the stuffed lion doll Penelope had given him to jostle a bit beside him. He picks it up and hugs it to his chest.

Lions are brave and strong. A braver and stronger man wouldn't be hiding in a hotel room even now, weeks later. A braver and stronger man would be going home and confronting the thing he's been avoiding all this time. Derek wants to be that man that Penelope thinks he is, and truth be told, he usually is that man. Buford has a way of making him feel like a kid again, scared and easily manipulated. He's not that kid anymore. He won't be manipulated by Buford.

Pushing up from the bed, he starts packing his things away. It's time to go home.

 

* * *

 

Derek opens the door to the hotel room, looking out at the car holding his security detail and giving them a wave. He slings his bag over his shoulder and jogs over to the car. A hand over the top of the car, he leans down and notices the bullet in the middle of the agent's forehead. The other agent is half out of the passenger seat, as if he tried to get away. His throat is slit.

He backs up and takes his phone out of his pocket. An arm comes around his chest and he's pulled back against the chest of another man. The cool barrel of a gun is pressed to the side of his neck. Another man takes his bag and phone from him. Derek holds both hands up in front of him, leaning away from the gun. The barrel follows him and stays pressed to his skin anyway.

Carl steps in from of him and grins. "Derek. My boy. It's time."

When Carl nods, another man steps in close and presses a syringe into his arm. Derek struggles against the needle, the thin metal cutting into his skin where it's inserted. "Carl. You don't have to do this. We can get you help. We can help you. Listen to me. We'll get you a deal."

"Nuh-uh-uh. That's enough." The man behind him with the gun whispers into his ear. "There are no deals here. It's us's gonna help you. All right? Gonna help you get good and fucked."

"Carl." Derek tries again as the older man steps closer to him and the visual of him starts to blur around the edges. One Carl turns into three Carl's.

"Gonna turn you into a whore, Derek." Carl says as Derek's eyes flutter closed. "Just like you always should've been."

 

* * *

 

Derek is cold again, so cold that he feels a shiver wrack his body. There are no comfortable sheets beneath him this time. He's laying on what feels like concrete. His hands are bound behind him, not with rope, but with what feels like a zip tie. That's a relief. He knows that with some maneuvering he can work his hands out of a zip tie. He's done it before.

When he tries to stretch out his legs, his feet hit metal and he becomes aware of the fact that he's naked. He forces his eyes open and what is initially blurry sharpens into focus. Metal bars around him, above him, below him. He's in a cage. A small cage. After wiggling and pushing himself up, he realizes there's barely enough room for him to kneel in the cage without hitting his head on the top.

"On your knees, just like you should be."

Derek follows the sound of Carl's voice, finding the man sitting in a chair not too far away. Carl lifts a phone and snaps a photo of Derek. The brightness of the flash makes him wince and look away. Then he glares back at the man.

"You've killed FBI agents now Carl." He remembers the two agents, executed while doing their job, while trying to protect him. "You know that once you're caught, and you _will_ get caught, that there's no coming back from that."

Carl chuckles low and snaps another photo of Derek. "Still so sure of yourself. Look at where you are, Derek. Naked. On your knees in a damn cage and you're still runnin' that mouth of yours."

"You know I'm right." Derek says. "If you turn yourself in-"

"Never gonna happen." Carl interrupts. "I've got plans for you. Gonna break you down, build you back up into what I want you to be."

Derek smirks and shake his head. "Never gonna happen." He tosses Carl's words back at him. "My team's gonna find you and put you away for good. And I'm gonna watch you every second and make sure you never get out again."

Standing from his chair, Carl comes over to the cage and squats down in front of it. He snaps photos of Derek up close, and not just of his face, of the rest of his body too, down and down over his chest, at his groin. His gaze lingers in each place where he snaps a photo. Derek can't help the momentary flush of his dark skin.

A door opens and Derek looks away from his captor. He notices stairs going up. He must be in a basement. Four men come down the stairs and Derek recognizes their faces immediately. A spike of nerves causes him to have to remind himself to breathe. He tries to look calm as he can on the outside. On the inside, he's screaming for help.

"When do we get a go, Buford?" One of them asks. "Haven't had him since we got him ready for you at his house."

The knowledge that these men might have already raped him without his knowing brings that nausea back full force. Derek swallows down bile that tries to rise in his throat. They've implied that they've already seen him naked. He refuses to show any shame now and lifts his chin in a show of defiance.

Carl grins at Derek, a knowing look that says that his fate is in the palm of his hand. "Well, all you have to do is tell the truth, boy. Call yourself a whore. Tell me you want my dick inside of you. Then I won't let 'em touch you."

Derek's jaw tightens and flexes, staring hard at Carl. He won't give Carl that satisfaction. Even if he says the words, Carl hasn't said that he won't rape him. A part of Derek feels as if if he were to give an inch, he might find himself giving more inches until he doesn't know where to stop. He stays quiet.

"No?" Carl asks. He waits a moment, then shakes his head and moves to stand up. "Your choice. He's all yours boys."

"Carl." Derek says, glancing to the other four men advancing on the cage and back to his abductor. Is he really going to leave him here with these convicted criminals? Carl pauses and looks back at him, waiting. A whore. All he has to do is say that he's a whore. The word gets caught in his throat and his eyes narrow. "Fuck you."

Carl grins again and looks to the other men. "Make sure you fuck him good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

The fact that these men had touched him while he'd been drugged unconscious is almost immediately playing havoc with Derek's mind. He tries to think back to the slow shift into awareness in his bed that day, the way he'd felt, the way his body had felt. In that drugged haze he hadn't noticed anything. Then once he was awake and had realized that he was restrained and naked, he'd panicked. There had been no time between panic and Carl touching him.

The clink of metal on metal brings him back into the present. One of the men is unlocking the door to the cage, the other three leering at him from the other side of the bars. His hands are still bound behind his back and Derek immediately shifts from his knees, falling back and bringing his legs out in front of him just in time to slam his foot into a face.

"You fucking cunt!" The man shouts, wiping the rush of blood from his nose.

No matter how much he flails and fights, he inevitably feels hands around his ankles. He's pulled, his shoulders and head bumping over the metal bars as he's dragged out of the cage. While he's determined not to make it easy on them, it's four men of decent size against him and his hands are bound. Still, he does some damage, his foot landing hard against one man's knee, causing him to buckle to the cold concrete.

Eventually, he's flipped over on his front. Two of the men hold his shoulders down while another gets behind him between his legs to keep them separated. This time there is no slick added. There's fingers briefly shoved roughly inside of him, then pulled out and replaced with thick cock. Derek can't help crying out at the pain that tears him inside out.

He tries to go to that place, the safe place in his mind where he isn't here anymore, that place where this is just physical, not mental or emotional.

"Don't worry. You remember how we feel inside you. Been here before."

Those words follow him, reminding him that these men had raped him without him even being conscious. When he gets to that safe place, they're there too. It isn't safe anymore. He's pulled back into the present, his body jerking as some asshole rams his cock into him, the pain with each push in and pull out, the weight of the men all around him holding him down no matter how much he struggles. They've taken his safe place away from him. He has to find a way to undo that.

Thankfully, by the time the second man is pushing into him there's cum slicking the way, possibly his own blood as well considering how much he hurts down there.

Carl is standing back against the wall, watching. Derek notices something standing next to the older man. A tripod. A video camera. Embarrassment wells up inside him and he mentally pushes that away and stubbornly thinks ' _Good, more evidence to use against you, you sick fuck_.'

"Oh, look at that scowl." Carl coos from where he stands next to the camera. "Still tryin' to be big and strong. Big bad Derek Morgan!" He laughs and shakes his head. "Whores aren't big and strong, Derek. Look at you. All that pretty muscle and it's useless. You're face down on the floor with cock in your ass. Nothin' but a whore. All you have to do is say it."

"This is rape, Carl." Derek grinds the words out.

The second man pulls his cock out of Derek, a string of cum dribbling out of Derek's ass and sliding down his skin. He hates that feeling. The third man lines up behind him.

"Is it?" Carl counters. "You got the cum of two men inside you and you're about to have Stephen's inside you too. Let's see if you're getting off on it. Stephen see if he's got a hard-on."

Derek feels a hand snake underneath him as Stephen grabs his cock and gives it a few quick jerks. "Yeah, he likes it all right. Got pre leaking from him and everything." Stephen slaps two hands down hard on Derek's ass and squeezes. "And this ass. Damn." Those hands part his cheeks and his length slides between them before easily pushing inside Derek's now stretched hole.

"I bet you're goin' through the psychology on why your body's reactin' the way it is right now." Carl says. "That mind of yours, always workin'. You've never been able to turn it off. We're gonna teach you to turn it off and just accept what you are and what your body wants. What are you, Derek?"

' _I'm not a whore._ ' Derek thinks. Although the way Stephen is fucking him hard makes the thought dull around the edges. That realization makes him think the words again, but with a rougher, sharper edge to them, a reiteration of what he knows he has to hold onto.

"Don't think we've properly met." The fourth man lines up behind him. The pressure on his shoulders holding him down has never let up. They keep switching places. "I'm Martin. Gonna be a pleasure to fuck you again. Glad you're awake for it this time."

Martin runs his hand up and down Derek's spine over his tattoos. The gesture would be soothing if not for the circumstances. "Carl was right." The inmate continues. "You are a beautiful, beautiful man. What I could teach you if I was back in my element."

Martin Himinez. Derek remembers reading his case file. The man hadn't only had sexual assault charges on his record. He was also allegedly a part of a large international human trafficking ring, specializing in sexual slavery.

That hand is still rubbing at his back and keeps the gentle touch going for what feels like forever. Derek finds himself relaxing into the concrete beneath him. The second he realizes he's relaxing, he jerks and tries to break free of the men holding him down.

"Oh see, now... you were almost calm." Martin says. "Give me a month with you and I'd have you putty in my hands. You'd be begging for my cock."

"Get on with it, Martin." Carl says, almost sounding aggravated at the delay, at the way Derek had almost let himself relax and respond to Martin.

Martin seems annoyed at being rushed. Derek makes a mental note of that rift between the two men even as he feels thick hard length shoved up inside of him. His body is immune to the pain at this point. By now, it can almost feels good in spite of the pain if not for the fact that this is still rape.

"Lift him up, boys." Martin says.

The hands at his shoulders finally stop pressing him into the concrete and lift him up onto his knees. Martin's cock is still pumping inside of him. Derek tries to push up, leverage himself with his legs, but hands are still on his shoulders holding him down only from a different angle.

The first man who had fucked him hard and dry slips his hand around Derek's hard-on and starts roughly fondling him. Derek tries not to react but after a moment, his body reacts and he loses his breath in one quick puff of air.

Another man slides his fingertips over Derek's lips, pushing the flesh as if trying to get him to open his mouth. Derek growls. "I will bite whatever the fuck it is off if you try." He warns. The fingers slip away from his mouth.

"It's okay." Martin says, his voice strained, breath harried as he continues to fuck into Derek. "We'll get him there. Patience."

In spite of himself, Derek feels his body reacting as he's fucked and his cock jerked off. His own breath comes in quick gasps and he feels all the heat inside of him pooling at his groin. He vaguely hears Carl tell him that all he has to do to stop it is to tell the truth, call himself a whore. Derek thins his lips to keep from saying the words. Then he's leaning back into Martin behind him as his orgasm rips through him, his cum spilling on the concrete in front of him.

"That's right." Martin says, his hand flat against Derek's abdomen, petting him there as he had at his back while he spills inside of him. "Feels so good, doesn't it? That's a good little whore. So beautiful."

Derek is momentarily lost in that pleasure and in Martin's words whispered into his ear. Then he feels fingertips slicking something against his lips. It's Stephen, wicking up Derek's spill from the floor and spreading it on his lips. Derek tries to bite at his fingers and the man laughs and pulls back.

Martin's now limp cock slides out of him but the man keeps petting at his abdomen. Derek kneels there, letting it happen until he realizes that he's letting it happen. Hands are no longer on his shoulders holding him in place. When did they quit holding him here? He can't remember.

Lunging up, Derek tries to get at one of the men, he doesn't care which one, just any of them. Martin tries to hold him in place and Derek slams his head back into his face. Then he's almost to his feet when he feels a tackle from behind. Without the use of his arms he loses his equilibrium and slams down into the concrete. He's momentarily jarred and he tries to kick out but hits nothing.

They're shoving him back toward the cage and Derek doesn't make it easy for them. He's put back inside, the door slammed shut and locked. Again, there's no room for him to stand. Even on his knees his head brushes the top of the bars.

Amid a string of curses, the men file out. Carl flips off the camera, takes it off the tripod and carries it with him upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Derek tries to keep track of time. It seems like an hour later that Carl comes back down the stairs. There's a bowl and a plate in each of his hands. He slips the bowl between the bars and Derek finds that it looks like water. The plate is set inside his cage too, a sandwich cut into bite sized pieces.

"You know, you've got a stubborn streak a mile wide." Carl says. "You've always had that. But I got to you. When you were a kid, there came a time when I could make you do anything."

"I'm not a kid anymore." Derek says.

"No, you're not. But I can still break a man."

Derek eyes Carl on the other side of the bars. "It isn't too late to go back from this. We, my team, we can help you. You know they're gonna get here eventually. You know this isn't gonna go well for you if you don't turn yourself in."

"Oh, Derek..." Carl shakes his head, slips his hand between the bars and cups Derek's cheek until Derek pulls his cheek away from the touch. "I'm gonna have so much fun makin' you beg me to fuck you."

He watches Carl rise and leave the basement. Then he looks down at the bowl and plate. He has to eat or he won't keep his strength up. What just happened down here has taken a lot out of him. Derek looks over to the empty tripod and then up to the closed basement door. Only when he's sure he's alone and not being recorded does he lean down and lap at the water like an animal, take the food from the plate with just his mouth.

' _Be strong. Be brave._ ' he tells himself. ' _I'm not a whore._ '

 

Next Chapter: Derek's horrors continue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

Once Derek has lapped up most of the water from the bowl and left nothing but crumbs of the sandwich cut into bite-sized pieces, he fully looks around the basement. It's pretty standard, a cement floor and brick walls. It's empty save for a few chairs scattered about and an old couch that looks like it's seen better days. In the corner where the washer and dryer should be, the plumbing has been rigged for a commode and a water hose. There are no windows, which makes it difficult to tell the passage of time.

While he kneels there and waits, he hears the creaking of footfalls overhead, heavy walking. He can sometimes hear the muffled voices of conversation. Sometimes that conversation gets heated and he can just barely make out random words like 'slut' 'teach' and his own name, 'Derek'.

Derek tries to twist his wrists out of the zip tie. It's tight. His hands have been numb for awhile. The skin around his wrists already feels raw and it hurts to try to twist the zip tie off.

After a bit, he lies back against the back of the cage and starts to slam his feet against the door. It rattles, but doesn't budge, and Derek realizes he's wearing himself out. He needs his energy to fight them when they come back down. He looks down at the bolts holding the cage in place on the floor. He shifts to sit with his back slouched into the back corner of the cage and tries rubbing the zip tie over the top of the bolt.

For awhile he just stays like this, resting everything but his arms and hands, rubbing the zip tie against the bolt, sometimes the sharp edged, hexagonal shape scratches at his wrists instead. Even this takes up energy. When he feels wetness against his palms and fingertips, Derek looks back to see his own blood coating the concrete and the metal bolt. He stops.

Footsteps sound overhead, more muffled conversation. Derek gets up to his knees and waits, eyes on the door at the top of the stairs. No one comes. Eventually he lies down on his side, unable to fully stretch out given the confines of the cage, which leaves his legs pulled up close to his chest. His arms shift as he once again tries to work his hands out of the zip tie. Eventually, he falls into a restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Derek is in and out of sleep for a long time. He never can find that deep restful sleep that he probably needs to stay sharp and quick witted, but he doses on and off, waking up each time to find himself alone in the basement, still trapped in his cage. The basement is the same each time he wakes. He can't tell how much time has passed. He keeps hoping to wake up and find Hotch, Reid and Rossi, J.J., any one of them, coming down the stairs, pulling open the cage door and taking him to safety.

That hope never comes into fruition. Derek is alone each time he jerks awake. He'd rather be alone than have any of those men upstairs come down here with him.

It's some time later when he wakes and is fully alert. He finds Martin on the other side of the bars. Derek pushes up, awkwardly getting to his knees in the small space without the use of his hands. Martin just watches him quietly. Derek watches Martin back, meeting the challenge head on. He should have known it wasn't as easy as that. He feels a prick in his buttock and jerks, looking back to see one of the other men pulling away a syringe.

"Don't worry." Martin says. "It's Ketamine. It won't knock you out this time. It's just going to help us control you to get you clean and see to your wrists. Looks like you've done some damage back there. I've got to say, I like your fight."

The man behind the cage smirks, walking around to the front of the cage. "Yeah. Makes it more fun when you're fightin'."

"Where's Carl?" Derek asks.

"You want him down here?" Martin asks, watching Derek curiously. The man is smart, speaking in a way that says he isn't just a thug like the other three are. He doesn't look at Derek like he's a piece of meat. He looks at him like he's an experiment. "Don't worry. He'll be down in a little bit. Maybe. My methods and his methods don't quite match up. He wants my opinion on how to handle you and then he doesn't take my suggestions."

Derek takes that information in, deciding this is a good thing. He needs to keep picking at that wedge between Carl and Martin. "I bet that really pisses you off. I'm not sure he knows what he's doing."

Martin smiles. To Derek, that smile seems to elongate into something wicked and inhuman. A smile wider and bigger than a human smile should be. He blinks and shakes his head, finding Martin still there, un-moving, only he's hazy and out of focus. "Ketamine, huh?"

"Ketamine." Martin says with a nod as he unlocks the door to the cage. "And as far as Carl is concerned, we'll see how things pan out. I'd love to teach you submission. He wants it now. You're not the kind of man who'll break easily or quickly. I see you, Derek Morgan." He reaches in, easily pulling Derek out of the cage. "I see what a whore you could be. It's just going to take time."

He isn't sure how it happens, but Derek is suddenly, in what feels like the blink of an eye, out of the cage and on his feet with a man on either side supporting him. "Not a whore." He says, idly as he's guided across the floor of the basement. He thinks to fight only belatedly and swings his shoulder into the other man, only he's slow in his movement. Slow enough that he hits nothing but air and hits the concrete floor hard.

Another blink of an eye and that man is on top of him with a gun pressed to his forehead. The man's yelling at him. "You fuckin' cunt. You try that again and I'll shove this thing up your ass and open fire! You got me? You hear me shit face??"

Derek stares up at the man, feeling the cool press of the barrel pressed to his brow. He leans up into it as if daring the man to shoot him.

"Theo!" Martin grabs the man's arm and pulls him off of Derek.

Lying back to the concrete floor, Derek stares up at the ceiling. The wooden slats and piping seem to swirl and move in front of him. How is that possible? Time shifts and he's standing in front of the toilet. Martin's almost gentle in holding him upright with one arm and holding Derek's cock in the other hand to help him aim. Derek looks down to see he's peeing. Another man is holding his penis and he's peeing. Fuck. That's just a little bit embarrassing.

Martin presses a hand on the back of Derek's neck and leans him over the toilet until his cheek is pressed to the cool porcelain top of the tank. Hands grip his ankles and pull them so that his legs are spread. Derek feels something pushed up his ass and then a knob is twisted and his bowels fill with water. Okay. This is even more embarrassing. He tries to stand up and is held in place with a hand at the back of his neck.

"I need you to hold it in, Derek. Hold it in. Just for a minute." The water is shut off and Derek feels that hand rubbing at his spine just as it had before Martin had raped him yesterday. Derek's stomach cramps and he lets out a noise, a whimper, that he isn't sure came from him. Surely not.

The next thing he knows, he's sitting on the toilet letting go of everything inside of him. Martin is in front of him gently petting at his cheeks. "That's very good. Good job, Derek. We're going to do it two more times."

"No." Derek shakes his head and Martin's gentle touch turns into a slap at his cheek.

"That's a bad word, Derek. You don't ever tell me no." Then he's gently rubbing at Derek's cheek again. "It's okay. I forgive you. I forgive you. Just don't do it again."

Again, Derek is lifted and bent over the toilet with his cheek to the tank. Martin and Theo repeat the process, making him hold the water in for a minute, then letting him sit and expel it. The third time, the water runs clean.

Time had skipped a few times in there. When it skips again, he snaps back into place standing in the corner of the room. The water spray is warm and like heaven on his skin, taking away the dirt from the floor of his cage, his own spunk that had been spread over his lips, the cum from his ass, which Martin gently probes under the guise of ensuring that Derek is okay.

Finally, the zip tie is cut. Derek feels his arms release and the ache in those muscles as they get to shift from that one position is almost too much. He groans and circles his arms around his stomach. He almost instinctively covers himself in his nakedness but Martin bats his hands away.

"Never cover yourself. That isn't allowed." He tells Derek. He follows it up with a soft caress to his cheek. Then Martin grabs Derek's hand and starts to clean the blood off of his wrists. He tsk's a few times as he looks at the wounds. "We need to find another way to restrain you."

Derek misses Martin cleaning the wounds, time folding in on itself again. Then he feels the soft of material wrapping around his wrists as they're pulled behind him. He thinks he should have fought. He should fight now. Derek pulls his hands away and murmurs the word 'no'.

A hand slaps hard against his ass, startling him. "Bad word, Derek." Then Martin's hand gently massages where his hand had hit hard enough to leave a hand print before continuing to work the soft material around Derek's wrists.

Bad word. Those words seem to echo in Derek's mind as a zip tie is tightened on top of the material. He's guided across the floor again. Martin pushes on Derek's shoulders until he's kneeling by the couch then Martin takes a seat close to him. A hand at Derek's cheek guides him to lean down and rest his cheek against Martin's thigh. Then that hand continues to caress over Derek's cheek, his neck and shoulders. Derek dozes again, in and out of sleep.

He's out of it in thanks to the Ketamine, but occasionally he hears words whispered into his ear as Martin leans over him. "Whore." "Good boy." "'No' is a bad word." "Whore. Whore. Whore. You're a whore, Derek. Whore."

 

* * *

He isn't sure when he was put back in his cage. But Derek snaps awake with the word 'whore' echoing in whatever strange half-dream he'd been having. Someone is in front of his cage again. Derek pushes to his knees, still feeling the strange effects of the Ketamine, but only the remnants of it. His mind is more clear now. Time seems to be more fluid.

Carl looks in on him, just watching. The older man is sitting in a chair, looking back and forth between something on his phone and Derek in his cage.

Leaning forward, Carl turns the face of the smart phone on him and shows Derek a video of himself bent over the toilet with a hose up his ass. Heat flushes his skin and Derek looks away, not wanting to see it. He must have been too drugged out of his mind to notice someone recording it.

"Someday, you're gonna submit like that without the use of drugs." When Derek says nothing, Carl continues, pulling his phone back to continue watching the scene himself. "What are you Derek?"

Derek knows what Carl wants him to say. His jaw flexes as he looks back to the other man. Carl is going to be disappointed. "I'm the guy who's gonna kill you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

For what feels like days Derek is raped by Theo, Stephen and the third inmate aside from Martin, a man named Jay. Carl stands back and asks him what he is each and every time, tells him all he has to do is call himself a whore and ask Carl to fuck him. Derek will never admit to thinking about giving in, but while the thought might be there if just to make it end, he never actually does it. Martin is sometimes in the room and sometimes not. He's mostly around to help a Ketamine drugged Derek use the bathroom and shower once a day.

The same meal of a sandwich cut into tiny pieces and a bowl of water is put in his cage once a day too. They're developing a routine. Derek is fed, necessities are taken care of, then the rape starts. It's all videoed, Derek notices. He soothes himself with the idea that it will just make for more evidence to put Carl in a prison cell that he'll never get out of.

When he's alone Derek tries to meditate, to find that safe place he'd once had in his mind, a place he could go to get away from whatever terrible thing he was living through at any given moment. Each time he touches that place he finds that it isn't empty. It's no longer an escape. There are men there waiting to rape him as well. It's no longer safe. There's no way for him to get away from what's being done to him.

There's one time when it's just Martin with him in that place. The man strokes him gently as he whispers words to him, telling him he'll be a good whore someday and that he isn't to say the word no. No is a bad word. Somehow, Martin seems the scariest of all. Carl is the devil Derek knows. The other three, Theo, Stephen and Jay, are thugs. They just want to fuck Derek. Martin wants something different. He's the devil that Derek isn't so sure of. Martin is playing a psychological game that Derek isn't sure he knows how to combat.

No, he can't go into that once safe space in his mind anymore, not even with Martin there.

The few times that Derek does find a deep sleep, the nightmares from his childhood are back in full force. He'd thought he'd kicked those demons to the curb a long time ago. It's been ages since he's dreamed about what Carl had done to him as a kid. He can't say that anymore. Memories become nightmares that morph in with his current predicament, warped mixtures of past and present. In these nightmares sometimes Derek is that scared and malleable little kid who'd desperately needed a father figure. Sometimes he's his adult self, but still scared and malleable. He hates those dreams.

No is always a bad word in those dreams. Look to the sky, Derek. Look to the-

The door at the top of the stairs opens, jarring Derek from his spiraling thoughts. He's already been fed for the day. He's already been through the humiliation of letting Martin help him with the necessary things on the other side of the room. He's already been raped for the day by Jay, Stephen and Theo. That isn't to say there won't be more, but that's the routine that he's come to expect.

Surprisingly, it's Martin coming down the steps. Maybe that means the worst is over for the day. Martin hasn't fucked him since that first day. Right now, he sets up the camera on the tripod, turns it on and then moves a chair closer to the cage and sits down.

"I want you to do something that's both for me and for you." Martin says. "I want you to clasp your hands together behind your back."

Derek's brow furrows, immediately looking for the catch. His wrists are still bound together with the soft cloth and the zip tie that Martin replaces every day. "Why?"

"That isn't for you to question. It's simply for you to do." Martin seems content to wait Derek out.

For as much as Derek wracks his mind for a reasoning behind the request, Derek can't think of one. Maybe his head is still swimming from the dosage of Ketamine he'd been given for the morning's activities. But he sees no harm in doing this one thing. Again, he has to pick his battles. Derek shifts his arms, wrists twisting beneath the cloth restraint until his palms are facing one another, fingers laced together.

Martin leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his own hands clasp together. "Now see? Isn't that more comfortable than fighting your restraints? Even without pulling at them, you were fighting them."

It does feel more comfortable. Derek hates that Martin is right. He watches the man skeptically, still looking for the angle here, the catch.

"I'm going to ask you to do something else for the both of us." He points down, gesturing to Derek's knees. "Spread your knees so you aren't balancing so hard on them."

Derek looks down where his thighs and knees are pressed together, always pressed together. If he spreads them, that's like putting his entire self on display in a way he is not okay with. He looks back up to Martin, shaking his head.

"No is a bad word, Derek. Don't say it." Martin's voice is calm, instructional.

Those words have more of an effect on him than he'd like. Martin's been saying them to him every chance he got, all while he was drugged with Ketamine. The power of suggestion, manipulation. Derek's started dreaming those words. He knows he's being played. Martin's game is psychological, which is possibly the easier way to get to Derek than the straight forward physicality of the rape.

The word 'no' shapes itself in his mouth but doesn't come out. Instead, he resorts to something easier. "Fuck you."

"Oh now, I've been very nice to you, Derek. You know I have." Martin says, having the audacity to look disappointed in Derek. "I've been taking care of you."

Derek feels that disappointment like a slap in the face followed up by a gentle caress. Psychological reconditioning. That's Martin's game. And Derek's been unwittingly feeding into it, accepting every gentle touch that follows something sharp and horrible.

"Nice to me, you mean like how you raped me?" Derek bypasses feeling bad for upsetting Martin and goes straight for reminding himself if why he shouldn't feel guilty. Martin is not a nice man. He's not a good man.

"I could leave you alone in the mornings. Let the boys piss in your food like they want to, not help you shit and pee, not bathe you." Martin says, listing the only things that have been keeping Derek feeling anything near human. "You can piss on yourself in your cage, shit on yourself. You can drink piss and eat a yellow, soggy sandwich before the others come in every day."

This is why Derek finds Martin more frightening than any of them. He doesn't need to hold Derek down and fuck him. Derek has said that Carl doesn't know what he's doing. Martin knows what he's doing.

Derek reminds himself to breathe, reminds himself to pick his battles, then, slowly, shifts the weight of his knees, spreading them apart a bit.

"That's a good boy, Derek." Martin says approvingly. "But that's not enough. Spread them wide."

Swallowing hard over the tightness in his throat, the tension in every muscle speaking toward the fact that he doesn't want to do this, he spreads his knees apart as wide as they'll go. "Happy?"

"Very." Martin says, sitting back in his seat and looking Derek over. His gaze lingers on Derek's crotch now on full display. "I don't want to make your life worse than it already is here. But I will."

They sit there in silence for awhile before Martin gets the key out of his pocket and unlocks Derek's cage. He opens the door. "Come out."

Derek crawls out of his cage and starts to stand up but a hand on his shoulder holds him down. A hand at the back of his neck has Derek walking on his knees across the concrete to the couch. "Turn around." 

Derek does as instructed, with his back to the couch. "Are the others coming?" He asks, expecting to be raped again.

"That's none of your concern. Just do as you're told." Martin says. "Sit back on the floor, legs in front of you."

After casting a glance at the door at the top of the stairs, Derek sits back, shifting his legs out in front of him. Martin shifts around behind Derek and settles down in the space on the floor in between the couch and Derek. An arm snakes around Derek and pulls him back against him. "Bend your knees." When Derek hesitantly does this, Martin's legs twine beneath his bent knees and spread his legs wide for him.

Derek's breath hitches in his chest and he starts to wiggle free. Martin holds him back. "Remember what's at stake for you. Clean food. Clean you."

Martin's hand finds Derek's cock and he starts gently stroking him. He speaks into Derek's ear. "I know you're not a whore. You're a wild animal that needs taming, like the lion tattoo on your arm. Carl wants to break you. I only want to bend you."

"Where'd you learn all these techniques?" Derek asks, frustrated with everything right now. He's fought so hard not to even bend for Carl and the others. Martin's part in this had just seemed a part of Carl's plan. Now Derek knows that Martin has been playing his own game with Derek, unbeknownst to any of them, including Derek, including Carl.

"I think you already know."

The case file had been right then. Martin's alleged connections to the human trafficking ring were true. Derek shakes his head and looks down, watching his own cock grow hard under Martin's touch.

"How hard would it be for you to call yourself a whore for Carl?" Martin continues. "It's just a word, Derek. You don't have to mean it. I'm afraid if you don't say it, he's going to resort to things beyond your daily gang rape."

Derek smirks. "You almost sound like you care."

"I care. I'd already planned to be far away from these idiots by this point. But..." His hand dips lower to squeeze at Derek's balls, pulling and fondling them before he resumes stroking his cock. "Then you were even more than what Carl said you were."

Martin leans close, breath warm on Derek's ear. "I want to play with you. My way. I want to get in your head and fuck around just like I have been for over two weeks now."

Two weeks. He's been here over two weeks. It feels longer. A spike of pleasure forces air from his lungs and he finds himself leaning back against Martin. It's just his body's natural reaction, he tells himself. Just physical. Nothing more.

"That's right. Let yourself feel it. Just letting yourself feel it doesn't make you a whore." Martin continues. "Just like saying the words doesn't make it true."

Derek's body shudders as he gets closer and closer to that pinnacle of pleasure that would take him over the edge. He hears Martin whisper in his ear. "Call yourself a whore. They're just words, Derek. They're just words."

Derek shakes his head as he groans and sprays cum onto the concrete in front of him. He vaguely hears the door at the top of the stairs open, footsteps on the stairs, shouting. Then Carl is there with the other men, grabbing Derek and hurling him back into his cage. The door is slammed and locked. Derek looks out to see Carl and Martin in a heated conversation. He'd missed the beginning of it.

"You don't know what you're doing, Carl! You push him too quick, too fast, he'll just keep pushing back. I keep trying to tell you this but you don't listen!"

"Like I need advice from you anymore. Goin' behind my back. You don't see him unless I say it's okay! None of you sees him without me knowin' about it! He's mine! I know how to deal with him."

"What you're planning to do... that's not how to get him to fully submit to you."

Derek watches them continue up the stairs, still trying to catch his breath from what had just happened by the couch. His spill still dots the floor over there. Fuck. He's in trouble. Martin's head games scare the hell out of him. And what does Carl have planned that has Martin so rattled? Dipping his head, Derek notices then that he's kneeling in his cage, hands clasped together behind his back, knees as far apart as they can go.

Dammit. He closes his legs, thighs and knees pressed together. "No." He says the word he's not supposed to say to the empty room. "I'm not a whore."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

In the days following the altercation Derek doesn't see Martin again. He feels that loss in every way that really counts right now just as Martin had said he would. Derek can sustain a lot of things, physically speaking. The mental and emotional game of suddenly being without the ability to relieve himself or be clean, is more powerful than any rape for him.

His food is pissed on. The bowl doesn't have water in it anymore. The liquid is yellow and obviously piss. Derek doesn't eat or drink it for a few days. Not until Jay, Stephen and Theo hold him down and force it down his throat.

The rape sessions are especially brutal. They're rougher with him, more violent. He wears the bruises all over his body. Without his daily showers, without Martin washing him daily from head to toe, he still wears the messiness of it days later. He's had to relieve himself in the small cage. He's only let out of the tiny prison to be held down and fucked. Derek fights it, as always. But maybe, just maybe, he's starting to fight it a little less. He smells like piss, shit and cum. He feels like it too.

The psychological effect of his own state of being is weighing on everything else.

"You smell like shit, you fuckin' whore." Jay rams his dick into Derek, the third of the trio for today.

Derek is on his knees with his face being pressed into the concrete beneath him by the other two men. He can't argue with the fact that he smells like shit. He does. His skin itches where the trio has spilled their cum on him in the last several days and not cleaned it off. He can still smell piss from the food that was shoved into his mouth and held there until he swallowed it this morning.

"Yeah, you fuckin' whore. Big, bad FBI agent's a fuckin' whore." Jay repeats as he brutally fucks Derek. In spite of himself, Derek is hard. He hates that reaction. Jay likes to use the word the most. He'll say it again and again until he's done. He always does, leaving the word 'whore' ringing in Derek's ears. "You got a nice little pussy you fuckin'... whore..."

Derek hears the door at the top of the stairs open, footsteps on the stairs behind him. Carl must be coming downstairs. Or maybe it's Martin. Derek hopes it's Martin.

"All you have to do is say those words Derek." It's Carl. Of course it's Carl. "What are you? Who do you want to fuck you?"

He refuses to utter a word of what Carl wants to hear, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep them inside. He hears a whimper behind him, female. Derek tries to turn around and see but he's held in place so Jay can finish. What's happening? He doesn't know what's happening.

"Just say it, Derek." Carl continues to prod him. "Tell the truth. What are you? Who do you want to fuck you?"

"Fuckin' whore. You whore. Love fuckin' this whore pussy." Jay says, plowing into Derek as he spills inside him. More cum to add to what's already dribbling out of his ass, already dried on his skin between his thighs, on his back, on his stomach, on his face.

"What are you Derek?" Carl tries again.

"You go to Hell." Derek says as the hands lift away from his shoulder and head. He gets up to his knees and turns to glare at Carl and freezes, his hardened features falling apart when he sees who Carl is with. The older man is holding a gun to the head of his companion.

"Sarah?" His oldest sister. She's crying, eyes wild, a gag in her mouth, hands tied behind her back. No. Nononono...

Something in his mind short circuits and he feels himself crack under pressure. He looks to Carl, eyes wild. "I'm a whore. Carl. Carl look at me. I'm a whore." Everything feels tight. Tears slide down his cheeks. When did he start crying? The world has just tilted off its axis and he shakes his head, crawling on his knees closer to Carl. "Carl, I'm a whore. Okay? I'm a whore!"

He breaks, his breath hitching in his throat as he looks to Sarah. He's naked in front of his sister and he can't cover himself up, hands bound behind his back. Oh god, she's just seen Jay fucking him. "Oh Sarah. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please..." Sarah shakes her head at his apology. It isn't his fault, she's trying to say. Derek knows it's his fault. Whore is just a word.

He looks back to Carl. "Please. I'll do what you want. What do you want?"

Carl's sudden silence is unnerving. His look is cocky and knowing as if he knows he's already won. "Carl!" Derek can't stand it. "What do you want from me?!" He screams, tries to stand up but is pushed back to his knees. "Let her go. Let her go."

"What are you, Derek?" Carl asks.

"I'm a whore." Derek answers quickly. He doesn't hesitate.

"And?"

"I want you to fuck me." His voice barely sounds like his own when he says that, soft and shaky, a slight tremble to it. He can't abide that tenor in his voice so he says it again, stronger. "Fuck me, you son of a bitch! Let her go and fuck me."

The sound of the gun going off is sudden, causing Derek to flinch as a spray of Sarah's blood hits his face and chest. Everything after that sounds hollow, like he's under water and can only hear the echoed vibrations of what's happening. Things move in slow motion as Sarah's knees buckle and she falls to the ground in front of him. Derek leans in, screaming something. He's screaming her name but it sounds unintelligible and far away to him. Her eyes are dead, lifeless as they look blankly in his direction.

Carl's boots move around behind him and Derek feels his familiar hands bend him over to press his face to the floor. Carl shoves his cock into Derek but he barely feels it. He barely feels anything. He lies there, looking at Sarah as Carl fucks him, no one holding him down, just letting it happen.

Until he doesn't.

"You sick fuck." Derek whispers, sound slowly coming back to him, the world around him slowly picking up speed again. "You killed her." He inhales a shaky breath. "You fuck. You..."

Derek comes up so fast that Carl has no time to react. The back of his head is slammed into Carl's face and he spins around to slam a foot into the older man's exposed groin. Carl grunts and hunches over. The other three men are scrambling for Derek and Carl. Derek stands and slams a shoulder into Stephen, knocking him to the ground. Jay and Theo circle him. Derek looks over to the steps to see Martin coming down them.

Jay tackles Derek who is easily sent off balance without the use of his arms. Theo is on top of Derek quickly, holding him down while Derek struggles and flails like a maniacal, wild thing.

Martin leans down over Derek's face, getting in his line of sight as he quietly shushes him like one would a small infant when they're crying.

"Fuck you!" Derek screams. "Fuck you!" He feels the telltale prick of the needle in his thigh even as his foot slams into Jay. Martin keeps gently shushing him all while Derek continues to scream and struggle. Slowly, as the Ketamine takes hold, Derek starts to calm, gasping for air as if he's out of breath, as if his senses are still wanting to panic and fight but the drugs take even that away from him.

He stills as Martin continues to shush him, no longer in control of himself.

 

* * *

 

As always with the Ketamine, Derek is in and out, time skips. He feels himself jostled into his cage. Derek lies there, still, waiting, half sleeping and half not, letting time skip past him as things happen in the basement behind him, outside of his cage. He wants to fight. He wants to rail against every one of the men who have been raping him. He wants to kill Carl with his bare hands. The Ketamine has other ideas.

For the most part, he's left alone. At some point he hears someone on the stairs. He hears a key twist in the lock of his cage, a soft metal clink. He feels someone pulling him out of the iron bars. His body complies. His body isn't his own right now. Neither is his mind.

"Just a little more."

Martin. He's giving him more of the drug used to subdue him, used to twist his mind in every direction, used to control him. Derek lets him give it to him while he looks over to where Sarah's body had been. It's not there. There's a blood stain on the floor where she had been. Derek gets lost in that blood stain for a bit.

_Sarah... Sarah. It's my fault. Whore is just a word._

When he comes back into the present, Martin has him dressed in sweat pants and a hoodie. His arms are still restrained behind his back in the hoodie, the arms of the hoodie dangling with no limbs in them. They're standing at the foot of the stairs.

Martin puts a finger to his lips, lips that seem to stay still even while the man speaks. Martin smiles that Cheshire cat grin that's too big for anyone's face. The walls behind him seem to seep blood. "I need you to do something for us, Derek. I need you to be very quiet."

Derek starts to say something but Martin puts that finger to Derek's lips and shakes his head. "It's a bad word, Derek. Don't say it."

Don't say no.

Together, they head up the stairs. Derek's gaze seems to freeze like photographs on different things. A fully furnished house. A living room. A stove. A washer and dryer. Dishes in the sink. A kitchen table. A back door.

It's the first breath of fresh air that he's had in a long while. Derek closes his eyes and inhales, face tilted up into the sun as he lets Martin pull him along through the back yard. At the back fence Martin opens the gate. There's a car in the alley. He opens the passenger door and sits Derek inside before closing it again. He goes around to the drivers side and gets in.

Derek slumps awkwardly in the seat with his hands bound behind him, unable to hold himself up completely without help. "Where...?"

"Not for you to ask, Derek. Just let it happen and I'll take care of you." They're driving then, down the alleyway, turning right, then stopping at a stop sign. "I made a little phone call to your friends."

At the stop sign, Derek looks down the residential street where he'd been imprisoned for weeks. Several cop cars come down the street, lights flashing. A handful of cars even pass in front of them, police, black SUV's, lights flashing. Derek sits up as straight as he can, watching them.

"Wait." He says. "Wait!!" He feels Martin's arm around his shoulders, pulling him close into his side. Derek can't get purchase to sit up again. He doesn't have that control. Martin and his needles full of drugs are in control.

As the car starts moving again, Derek sees familiar vests with FBI emblazoned on the chest, familiar faces and...

"Wait..." He whispers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

The phone call had been cryptic, at best. It contained just a simple address and an attached image. Penelope had traced the phone number to find it was a burner phone, easily bought and easily discarded. Aaron might not have called in as big a show of law enforcement as he had if not for that attached image: a photo of a lion tattoo on a bicep that is all too familiar to anyone who knows Derek Morgan.

They arrive with the instruction of lights but no sirens. The group arrives en masse, eight police cruisers, three sheriffs and two black SUV's, all of which surrounds the house at the address they'd been sent. Inside they don't find Derek. They don't find Carl Buford either. There are only two men: Theo Martin and Stephen Watson, both of whom are immediately taken into custody while the police spread out to the neighboring houses to look for the other men.

The main floor of the one story house seems very normal; two bedrooms, two baths. It looks like one of the men was sleeping on the couch. There are dishes in the sink, something warming on the stove that speaks toward someone having just been cooking there.

"Someone must have been awake. They saw us pull up." Rossi flips off the burner on the stove. "Hotch, you need to see the basement."

Together, the two men make their way downstairs to find the cage, the modified plumbing, the stain of blood on the floor. Aaron's gaze lingers on that small cage. Was Derek kept in there? Derek is big, broad-shouldered. Could he even fit in that cage? Could Aaron have prevented this? If he hadn't kept the prison escape a secret, could Derek have had a better chance to fight this?

Steps bounding down the staircase pull Aaron away from his own guilty thoughts. He finds David's gaze lingering on him and quickly looks away to find Reid coming near him with something in his hands.

"Memory cards." Spencer holds out a hand with about four tiny plastic memory card cases in it. Each plastic case has a date on it, all within the last few weeks. "There's a whole box of them."

"Do you know what's on them?" Aaron asks.

"Not yet." Spencer sees the cage, can't look away and swallows hard over a lump in his throat.

Rossi claps a hand down onto Reid's shoulder and squeezes. "We don't know what happened down here yet. Let's go back upstairs before we jump to the wrong conclusions."

Aaron watches them leave, then looks down to the blood stain on the floor. It's a lot of blood and he hopes like hell that it isn't Derek's.

 

* * *

 

A canvas of the neighborhood didn't turn up Carl Buford or Jay Newman. Penelope tracked down the gas station where the phone was purchased. Video footage shows Martin Himinez purchasing the phone. Unfortunately, the phone is found in the house where Derek was kept, discarded. They know for certain that Derek was kept there. The memory cards hold video footage that's difficult to watch. The team has been slowly going through them, looking for any clues as to why and where Martin might have taken Derek.

"There seems to be a special bond between Derek and Martin from Martin's end of things." J.J. says, sounding tired as she doles out coffee to each person around the table. "He's different from the others in how he treats Derek."

"And Derek's holding out. He's staying strong." Spencer says the words as if he's speaking to himself, needing to hear them said aloud to make them all the more true.

"Psychological reconditioning." Hotch says, looking down at the growing pile of folders in front of him and back up at the scene playing out on the screen, another rape session, Derek bound on his knees and bent over, taking what they're doing to him. "Martin's using different techniques to see what Derek responds to... and I think Derek knows it."

"So he's really a part of the Art Gallery. None of the therapists in prison could get him to admit it or even mention it." J.J.'s tone has turned serious. The implications of this being true mean that they could lose Derek's trail for good. The Art Gallery is huge, International.

"Yes. The Art Gallery." Penelope enters the war room, pausing the scene on the screen that she doesn't let herself even take a peek at. While she understands why the team has to watch the videos of what these men did to Derek, she just can't bring herself to do it. "And let me just say that they don't deal in Picasso and Monet. Nope! They deal in carefully crafted sex slaves."

Switching channels to match up with her tablet, a new image comes on screen of a pyramid of photos, most of the top slots empty squares with question marks in them. A few of the lower caste of squares in the pyramid have pictures in them, both only a handful. "Sadly, this is what we know about the hierarchy of the Art Gallery, which is not a whole lot, folks, in case you were wondering. I mean this place is super top secret for how wide-spread it is. The FBI has been trying to get the 4-1-1 on these nasty's for a long, long time." Penelope says.

"About a year ago, the FBI recovered a man and a woman." She pushes a button and two images come on screen. "Zack Lily and Marissa Thompson. Both went missing years ago, never found, cold cases. Well. It turns out that they were kidnapped by the Art Gallery, trained and sold. They were so brainwashed that the FBI couldn't even get them to admit they had a life before their abductions. Zack went missing again, presumably abducted again and taken back into the Art Gallery. These peeps really don't mess around with their privacy."

"And Marissa?" Aaron asks.

"Currently under massive security for her own safety in the FBI's psychiatric facility. I called them, they said they'd be open to letting you guys speak with her. They also said not to expect much because she's... uhm... not completely sane." Penelope explains. "Apparently being taken out of the environment she was indoctrinated into really did a number on her. They said she repeats the phrase 'once in the gallery always in the gallery' and 'no escape' a lot. Getting her to say anything else is like pulling teeth."

David shakes his head. "This is all presuming that Martin is going to go back to what he knows with Derek."

"Once in the gallery always in the gallery." J.J. repeats the words.

"Yeah." Spencer nods. "That probably isn't just for the people they abduct. It's also for employees. How else do they keep everything so private and hidden?"

"We should try to talk to Marissa after our interrogations with Stephen and Theo. Garcia, set up an appointment and please send those files, Marissa and Zack, to our tablets."

"Will do, boss." She hesitates, refusing to switch back to the video they had been watching. Derek is going through hell. Nothing is okay right now. "Any leads?"

"Nothing yet. We'll be meeting with Theo and Stephen today." Aaron answers. "Penelope. You're doing good work. Keep it up." Once Garcia has exited the room, Aaron switches the video back on.

 

* * *

"Look, Carl, he just promised us we could have a good time with this guy he was lustin' after." Theo says, slouching in the chair across the table from Aaron and David. He smirks and shrugs. "And we had a good time. That fucker was askin' for it anyway."

"You know, I don't think he asked for anything." David's voice is barely calm, barely conversational. They've seen the videos, and more than that, he knows Derek. There was no asking involved.

"You kiddin'?" Theo asks, brow arched. "S'like Martin said: got a body meant for fuckin'. And like Carl said, he tries to look all big and bad, tries to act it, but deep down, he likes a cock up his ass. Took it like a slut. Got good and hard when we fucked him too."

"Rape." Hotch says. "What you did is rape."

When Theo just shrugs, he continues. "Did you have any idea that Martin was going to take Derek with him?"

"Nah. That fucker didn't like how Carl was with Derek. Kept tellin' Carl he was doin' it wrong." Theo shrugs again. "I tell you what though, I get my hands on that asshole again, he's gonna learn what happens to snitches where I'm from."

"Do you have any idea where Carl might have gone? A safe house or... anything of that nature?"

"Like I'd tell you even if I knew anything. Carl's my boy. He got me outta prison and gave me a fine piece of ass on top of that."

"And now you're back in prison." David adds.

"Almost a full month of sex and booze?" Theo answers with another one of those shrugs. "Worth it."

 

* * *

 

"I'm gonna kill him." Stephen sits forward in his chair, fingers tapping nervously on the table, knee bobbing rapidly up and down under the table. "Martin? That fuckin' idiot turned us in? I'm gonna kill him."

"Do you have any idea where Martin might have taken Derek?" J.J. asks. She sits next to Reid on the opposite side of the table, watching Stephen, studying all of his nervous jitters.

Stephen shakes his head. "Nope. He never talked about himself much. Just that he likes fuckin' men. Said that Derek's his type."

"Type?" Reid asks.

"Yeah, you know. Big guy, all those muscles, looks all tough. Martin likes men like that. He likes fuckin' 'em." He smirks. "I bet he got jealous of all of us havin' him. Wanted him for himself. That stupid fuck. I'm gonna kill him."

"And Carl?"

"Carl and Jay. They got away?" Stephen smiles at that thought, as if he's pleased that they're still out there. "You know Carl's not gonna stop. I was his cell mate. We used to swap stories about all the kids we fucked with. Then somethin' changed after Derek came to visit him for somethin'. All he talked about was Derek. It was all Derek all the time to the point that even I couldn't wait to get my dick in him, hear him scream."

Stephen seems to get lost in that thought, that memory, then shakes himself free of it. "Carl's gonna hunt Martin and Derek. He'll find a way to get that whore back. I mean, we'd only just got him to say it."

Reid glances at J.J., then back at Stephen. "Got him to say..."

J.J. knows. In the video's they'd watched thus far, Carl has been trying to get Derek to say one thing about himself. "How did he get him to say it?"

 

* * * 

 

Aaron and David are sitting in the war room back at the FBI headquarters, going over their interview with Theo when Reid and J.J. come in. Reid grabs Hotch's tablet and brings up the list of files they've downloaded from the memory cards. He picks the most recently dated file and the video starts to play on the big screen.

"Reid, what is it?" Aaron asks as the usual daily rape scene starts.

Spencer doesn't answer, just starts to fast forward through the rape. J.J. is the one who speaks. "Stephen said Carl isn't going to stop hunting for Derek. We'll get you a full transcript of the interview. But that isn't what..."

The video stops as Carl appears in the room with a woman in tow. The woman is gagged and crying. It's hard to tell who she is at first. Carl just makes her stand there while the last man finishes up with Derek. Then Derek turns around and all hell breaks loose.

"Sarah?" Derek's voice on the screen is heart-wrenching.

J.J. puts her hand over her mouth, shaking her head as tears fill her eyes. "Oh my god. That's his sister."

Hotch stands up. So does Rossi. The four of them stare at the screen, horrified as Derek, who had been so strong and resolute, loses the battle. The room fills with his pleas to let Sarah go. He says everything Carl had wanted him to say almost frantically, the words spilling out of him as what little control he'd had over himself slips away.

When Derek is forced to ask Carl to fuck him, a man who had molested him as a child, Reid and Rossi finally look away. J.J. turns her back on the video completely. Aaron makes himself watch. The gunshot makes everyone in the room jump. Aaron stops the video as Carl starts to rape Derek.

"Stephen told you about this?" Hotch asks.

"Yes." Reid's voice is timid, trying to curb emotion that won't be curbed.

A heavy silence falls in the room, lengthy and weighted until Hotch seems to draw himself together and get back to business. "Let's get back to work."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

When asked about what had been done with Sarah's body, both Stephen and Theo tried to make a deal. Aaron refuses them both. He's watched far too many hours of the two men, along with Jay, raping Derek again and again to allow himself to be easy on them in any way. Instead, authorities have started canvassing the neighborhood where the men had held Derek and the surrounding landscape.

The team has watched all of the videos by the time the meeting with Marissa Thompson has been set up. Given that she's in a federal holding facility for those deemed mentally ill, and given Zack's re-abduction, a lot of red tape has had to be cut, a lot of hoops jumped through to arrange the meeting.

Marissa's trauma has been severe. She's never fully recovered from the shock of being torn from the man she had been sold to. After being indoctrinated by the Art Gallery, she and Zack had been sold as a pair to a man who then, eventually, passed away from a heart attack. Events led to the authorities entering the home to find the pair malnourished and willing to die with the man who had purchased them. Marissa's mind had fractured. She can't function anymore without being told what to do and when.

While Rossi and J.J. go to check with the groups canvassing the area where Derek was found, Aaron and Reid go to the psychiatric units to meet with Marissa. They're led to a bedroom where a woman is kneeling on the floor, hands clasped behind her back, staring off into the distance. Her lips shift around words that have no volume, but as they grow near, Reid gleans the words by lip reading them.

"No escape." He informs Hotch.

Aaron nods in her direction, silently telling Reid to start the interview so that he can stand back and watch to learn how best to handle her.

Kneeling on one knee a few feet away from her, Reid introduces himself. "Marissa? I'm Doctor Spencer Reid with the Behavioral Analysis Unit." Her lips stop moving and Spencer continues. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?"

There's no response from Marissa.

"We know you were abducted from your home. You had a family. A husband, Christopher, and two kids, Sandy and Ben."

When she hears those names, Marissa starts to mouth something else. After a few run throughs, Spencer repeats the words. "Once in the gallery, always in the gallery." He leans in a bit. "The Gallery can't get to you in here. I know they took Zack again. But you're heavily guarded here and we need you to tell us about your time when you were being trained."

She continues to mouth the words and Reid asks again. "Marissa can you stop and talk to us?" The words continue to be mouthed from the woman.

Hotch's voice cuts in, demanding, sharp, echoing off the bare walls. "Marissa, stop. Quiet."

The room falls silent. Marissa grows very still, head just barely cocking to the side, listening.

Reid gets to his feet, stepping back and glancing at Aaron, who is watching Marissa and trying to decide his next move, how to get her to talk.

Surprisingly, she's the one who speaks, her gaze slipping to Aaron's crotch. "May I please you, Sir?" Her tongue slides seductively over her lips.

"No." Aaron answers, then quickly adds, "Not in that way. It would please me for you to talk to me about your time in the Gallery."

There is no answer, so Aaron continues. "Tell me about the place where you were trained." There is no question in the statement. It's a demand.

"No escape. No escape." She starts again, saying the words over and over.

"Stop."

She stops.

"Tell me about the place where you were trained."

Silence.

"Tell me about the place where you were trained."

"No escape."

"Stop."

She stops.

"Tell me about the place where you were trained."

This back and forth continues for a full minute. Reid stays quiet, waiting to see if the method works while watching Marissa for any sign of too much trauma caused by their being here, by Hotch's methods. But finally, she answers with something other than the words 'no escape'.

"B-big building, Sir." Marissa says.

"Do you know where the building was located?"

She shakes her head.

"Did you ever see outside of the building?"

Marissa nods.

"Were there other buildings? City? Rural?"

"Trees. Mountains. Trees. No escape. No escape. Trees. Catacombs. Sir. Trees."

"No buildings?"

She shakes her head.

"Tell me about the catacombs."

"May I please you, Sir?"

"It would please me for you to tell me about the catacombs."

"No escape. No escape." 

"Stop. Tell me about the catacombs."

"Underground. Dark. Brutes. Dark. Alone. Hole. Hole. I'm a hole."

"Stop."

Hotch falls silent for a moment, deciding whether to continue asking questions or not. Marissa doesn't know where she was held when she was trained. Marissa surprises him by speaking again.

"Do you think she'll come for me, Sir?"

"She?"

"The Mistress, Sir. I could please her."

"The Mistress trained you?"

"Yes, Sir. I could please her."

"A woman is in charge of the Gallery?"

"May I please you, Sir?"

"No. Do you know her name? Do you know the Mistress's name?"

"No escape. No escape. No escape..."

"Stop."

Marissa doesn't stop this time. She starts clawing at her clothes, pulling them off her body, repeating the words 'no escape' again and again. The nurse who has been standing inside the door to the room moves over to her to help her pull her clothes back on.

"I think that's enough for today. It's taken us a long time to get her to keep her clothes on." The nurse says. "She wasn't allowed to wear clothes for a long time. Besides, you just got her to say more than she's said in months."

 

* * *

 

Back at the BAU war room, Aaron enters to join the rest of the team. "Penelope. Did you get a security detail on Derek's mom and sister?"

"Yeppers. They're... they want us to find Sara's body. Desi wanted to help but I told her there was nothing she could do. I'm not sure I'm their favorite person right now. I mean, they're stressed. Sarah's dead and Derek is missing, but..." She looks around the table. "They want to see the videos. They want to know what's happening to Derek."

Hotch shakes his head. He knows that Derek wouldn't want them to see it. "I'll talk to them. In the meantime we have another case we have to work."

"They expect us to work another case right now?" J.J. sits up straighter in her seat. "There's no way."

"Technically we aren't even supposed to be working Derek's case. We were officially taken off of it two weeks ago."

"But you kept us working on it." David says with a nod. "Good."

"And we'll keep working on it." Aaron adds. "But in order to stay below the radar, we need to work other cases. Understood?"

Everyone around the table nods. This isn't the first time any of them have worked a case outside of what they were supposed to. Derek has worked cases involving the rest of them with a tunnel-visioned passion before. They would do no less for him.

"We're going to California." Aaron says, nodding at Penelope. "Let's get the case details."

"Right. New case." Penelope flips the large screen on the wall on and starts rattling off details.

 

* * *

 

For days Derek has been in and out of cheap motel rooms with Martin. He's been continuously drugged, in and out of time and consciousness as Martin easily has him just where he wants him. Surprisingly, Martin never has sex with him. They just seem to be traveling. Sometimes Derek thinks they're traveling South. Sometimes he thinks they're traveling North. Eventually he quits trying to figure it out.

The drugs give him no reprieve from the knowledge that Carl had killed Sarah because he wouldn't call himself a whore. Does his mom know about it now? Does Desi know? What did they do with Sarah's body? He feels weighted down with guilt. He feels more sadness and grief than he can ever remember feeling.

Logically, he knows that all of his emotions are off because of the Ketamine and whatever other drug Martin sometimes gives him to make him sleep. Everything is off. But that makes his emotions no less real, no less valid.

_Whore is just a word. Whore. Whore. Whore._

Martin is always murmuring things in his ear. Anytime he protests being moved or waking up or letting Martin bathe him, he's reminded that no is a bad word. Martin touches him sometimes, a hand playing at his groin, prodding at his ass, but he never has sex with him. The most confusing is when Martin tells him that he's not a whore. Wasn't that the whole point? Getting Derek to say he's a whore? But Martin tells him this several times a day.

"You're not a whore, Derek. You can be better than that." Martin says.

Derek has no idea how much time has passed. One morning he wakes up in one of the cheap motel rooms he and Martin have shared together. Martin always holds onto him through the night. The bed has jostled with Martin getting up and that's what woke him up. He feels the telltale prick in his thigh, the Ketamine flooding his system and adding to whatever remnants were still there from last night.

"Good thing we're at the finish line. I'm almost out of this stuff." Martin speaks softly.

Time moves sideways and Derek blinks as warm water hits him. He'd been in bed. Now he's in the shower. Martin is with him, washing him. He kisses Derek. Derek doesn't kiss back. He's a zombie, no response whatsoever. Then the water is shut off and Martin is changing his bindings at his wrists. New material. New zip tie.

Back in the bedroom, Derek is set down in a chair by the window. He looks out through the gauzy curtain. Motel 6. He gets lost in that sign for a long time until a large moving van backs into a space in front of their door, blocking his view.

"If you move from that chair, I'll hand you over to the drivers and they won't be kind." Martin warns and then steps outside to speak with the two men who got out of the cab of the truck.

Derek isn't sure he could move by himself even if he wanted to. He tells himself to snap out of it, to fight, to do something, but he thinks of Sarah. The drugs do the rest to keep him complacent.

_Whore is just a word. I'm a whore. Whore is just..._

Martin is here after another time skip. The man is knelt down in front of him, looking up at him. "It's time to go to your new home. You're gonna be a good boy, aren't you, Derek?"

"Where are we going?"

"That's not for you to ask. You just do as you're told." Martin stands and helps Derek up. With an arm around him, he helps him outside. Two men have slid the gated door open at the back of the truck. They reach down and heft Derek up, dropping him on the floor of the truck once he's in. It's only then that he's realized that he's naked. He'd stepped outside without any clothes on.

"Hey. Easy with the merchandise." Martin hefts himself up into the back of the truck and moves close to Derek to help him up again.

Derek catches glimpses of wooden crates. He has no idea what's in them. He's walked between a narrow pathway of crates to the front of the truck where an open crate the size of a coffin is open. Derek catches on and shakes his head, taking a step back. "No."

A hand slaps hard against his cheek. It stings. Then Martin is gently caressing where he's just slapped. "Bad word, Derek. Get in and lie down."

"No. My friends. They're-" He's cut off by another hard slap to his face. This one makes time skip again. When Derek comes back to the present again he's lying down in the crate and Martin is pulling another syringe away after the needle having been in his skin.

Martin's hand slides up Derek's abdomen, over his chest and up his neck to cup the skin there. "Sleep, Derek. Sleep."

The lid of the crate is coming down on top of him. Derek's hands are still bound behind him, the position so uncomfortable but him too disconnected from it to care. He hears other crates shifting around. Then the slide of the door coming back down. Somehow, that slide makes the dark of his wooden prison even darker.

As the engine roars to life, Derek's entire consciousness melts into that same sort of blackness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

While in the box, Derek has a lot of time to think. He thinks about Sarah. He wonders if the rest of his family is in danger too. Hotch would take care of them, wouldn't he? Yes, Hotch will make sure they're taken care of. The problem is that Hotch had tried to take care of him too, and look at where he is. His mind is an uneven terrain of spiraling thoughts that lead him nowhere good. His emotions are a roller-coaster with ups and downs and twisted turns that he has no control over for quite awhile.

He's in that wooden box so long that he wakes from the drugged, deep sleep that usually keeps him out for an entire night, then sleeps, then wakes, then sleeps, then wakes again. At some point he's had to piss and the box smells. He smells. Each time he wakes up his mind is more clear. The third time he wakes up, he feels his box being shifted. It feels like he's lifted up and carried. Then he's put down again with a thud. A door closes. Then another engine starts and he's moving again.

The ache in his shoulders is really starting to bother him. His arms are numb. He can't feel his hands. His stomach feels like pit, empty and occasionally growling. Even though he's slept so much, a heavily drugged sleep, he's so tired. Why is he so tired?

Derek tries to bend one knee, using that leverage to push at the top of the crate since he doesn't have the use of his arms. It doesn't budge. It must be sealed or latched or weighted down in some way. Derek doesn't remember seeing latches, but he'd been so out of it. He tries several times to lift his knees up against the wood to pry open the top. It's immovable. He's tired.

Thoughts start to creep in again. 

_No is a bad word. I'm a whore. Whore. Whore. Sarah. Oh god, Sarah. Bad word, Derek. No is a bad word._

He shakes his mind clear and says the words aloud. "I am not a whore."

His own breathing, an occasional growl of his stomach, and the rumbling of the engine of whatever vehicle he's in are the only sounds. His mind is clearer, sharper, than it's been in a long time. Derek tries to focus his thoughts . It feels like they've been traveling for days. The first few times he'd woken up, the road had been smooth. Now it's uneven, like a dirt road, maybe. He's jostled around in the box a lot more now.

What's going to happen when they open the box? Where will he be? If he's in the back of a truck similar to the one he'd been put in, he'll be in an enclosed space. He won't have much room to fight. Even if he lunges out of the box when they open it, he'll need to get out of the truck. If they take the box out of the truck first then he can lunge out, maybe take out one or two men, then make a run for it, scream for help. Somebody will have to hear him. See him. Something.

Even if he's lucky enough to be outdoors when the lid comes off the box, without the use of his arms, doing any damage is going to be tricky. Derek is trained in self-defense and judo. He knows how to attack even without the use of his hands. But he's malnourished, dehydrated, and so damn tired.

Eventually, he falls asleep again. His eyes snap open again though, instantly awake some time later. It takes him a moment to understand what had awoken him. The truck is stopped. The engine killed. The sound of car doors slamming shut, and then Derek can hear the muffled sounds of conversation not far away. He can't make out any words. He strains his hearing, trying to hear signs of traffic, signs of life outside of those muffled voices. There's nothing. Where is he?

There's the slide of a cargo door, the sound of footfalls, the sound of his own breathing picking up as he braces himself to attack. Only the crate isn't opened. It's picked up. He's being carried out of the truck. The sunlight is too bright, even through the one slim crack in the wood. Derek tries to see out of the crack, but he can't see anything. The crate is set down and Derek once again braces himself. Nothing happens.

It feels like forever that they wait. Derek hears more footfalls, then voices.

"Martin. It is so good to see you free again. I knew you would come back into the fold."

Derek tries to make out the thick accent, but can't. It's a female though.

"Mistress. I brought you the present I told you about."

"Ahhh this is his photo?" She pauses. "He is most lovely, just as described. Big. Strong. I like what I see."

"He is a wild creature, Mistress. A lion." Martin says. "He needs taming."

"He will be tamed. You know that my methods do not always match up with your own. Are you willing to let me do things in my own way?"

"Yes, Mistress. I only have a few requests. I want to speak with him before he is given to the brutes. And I ask that he learns to submit without breaking him. I enjoy his wildness. He could bring in top dollar for the gallery if this is done correctly. A big man like him, submitting? Those are few and far between."

"And for me, you will do what in return?" The woman asks. "He is a liability as he is FBI. I take great risk in keeping him here."

"I understand, Mistress." Martin's voice again. "I will be back in your employ. I'll bring you more merchandise. You know I was always good at that."

There's a smile in the woman's voice. "You were one of my best." She seems to deliberate for a moment. "I will keep him then. For now. I cannot wait to see this wildness you speak of."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Take him to the catacombs. Let Martin see him first. Then let the brutes have him for awhile."

The crate is picked up again. Derek kicks at the lid. "Hey! Let me outta here!" He kicks at the lid again with his knee then lays back again. Damn, he's tired.

He hears Martin's familiar laugh and a pat on the top of the crate. He hates that Martin is amused by his attempts at freedom.

The sunlight is gone, replaced with artificial light. Derek peeks through the crack and spots gold and marble, a checkered floor, a vase with lilies in it. Then the space gets even darker and he feels the angle of the box change as if he's being carried down a flight of stairs.

"Damn it." Derek whispers to himself. There's nothing he can do but lay back and wait. The box is carried for what seems like a long time. Metal doors creek open, the beep of what sounds like an electronic key pad, another key pad, more metal doors. Derek can't see anything but gray outside the crack in the wood.

Then, finally, the crate is set down. Derek braces himself again as he waits. Then the sound of latches being thrown. The lid creeks open and Derek pushes up quickly, only to freeze as five men train automatics straight at him. What the hell is this? The Art Gallery? No. He can't be here. This can't be happening.

Two men grab his shoulders from behind and lift him out of the crate. They move him roughly to the middle of the floor where an iron hook protrudes from the concrete floor with chains hooked into it. Derek is pushed down to his knees and one of the chains is lifted up. On the other end of the chain is a thick metal ring that Derek can't understand what it is until it's clasped and locked around his neck like a collar. The weight of the metal around his neck is heavy.

The zip tie at his wrists is cut and Derek starts to flail his arms, ready to fight. But the length of the chain from the collar to the ring in the floor won't let him up off of his knees and he's easily subdued as a thick metal cuff is placed around each wrist in front of him, the chain connecting them is short and also through the ring on the floor. Once they're done, the crate is carried out of the room. Everyone but Martin exits the room.

"What is this?" Derek asks, glaring up at Martin. There's very little light in the room. Most of the light is coming from the hallway. "Is this the Art Gallery?"

"I like seeing the fire back in your eyes."

"Yeah, well I guess your drugs wore off."

"I guess they did."

"Where are we?"

"That isn't for you to ask, Derek. Just do as you're told." Martin moves close, kneels down on one knee and reaches out to cup Derek's cheek. Derek pulls away from the touch and Martin roughly grabs his chin and holds onto him. "This is your life now. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be. You don't have to like it here at the beginning. You just have to accept it."

Derek smirks and shakes his head. "Never gonna happen."

Martin continues, fingers still digging into Derek's chin hard enough to leave bruises, as if Derek hadn't even spoken. "The next few days are going to be rough on you, Derek. Depending on how you react, it could turn into weeks. Maybe months. Just remember that you have to go through the darkest points in order to get back into the light."

"I don't need your advice, Martin. I need you to get outta my face and leave me the hell alone."

That grip finally lets go of Derek's chin, but he continues to touch, gentle touches that are meant to be soothing to the bruised flesh. "Remember that you're not a whore. Carl was wrong. You have potential to be so much more than that, and when you start following that path, I'll see you again."

Martin leans in then, Derek leans back but can only go so far with the chains, and the man kisses Derek's brow, his cheek, his lips. Then he stands up and steps away. "You can get through the dark parts, Derek. You just have to figure out how."

The man starts to walk out of the room and Derek feels compelled to call after him. "Martin." The man stops and looks back. Derek can't help the unsteadiness in his next words. "The rest of my family..."

Martin shakes his head. "As far as I know they're fine. But you don't belong to them anymore. You belong to the Gallery. Once in the gallery always in the gallery. There's no escape from here, Derek. No escape."

 

* * *

 

The metal door is shut and Derek is alone in the room for a long while. The space is bare, save for one small yellowed light with a grate over it in the corner that barely puts off any light and a pipe system with a hose attached that leaves Derek feeling very uncomfortable as he remembers how the last hose had been used on him. In another corner, above the door, there's a blinking red light of a video camera. The concrete floor slopes a bit toward the middle where he's forced to kneel. Close to the ring that holds his chains in place is a drain.

Derek tries to pull on the chains, pull on the hook in the floor, work his hands through the cuffs on his wrists, all to no avail. He's been kneeling for a long time when the latch on the metal door clanks from the outside and the door swings open.

A man walks inside carrying a bowl. He sets the bowl down on the floor just inside the door and then moves to the pipes to turn the water on. He brings the hose closer and twists something on the end of the hose to make it spray harder.

The water is so damn cold as it hits Derek's skin. He tries to twist away from the spray but can barely move from his position as the man walks around him and sprays him down. It gets in his mouth, in his nose, in his ears, everywhere. Then the nozzle is twisted again and the spray is softer. The man comes in to run his hand over Derek's skin beneath the cold water spray. The touch lingers a little too long at his ass before a hand presses to Derek's brow, forcing his head back and the water placed at his lips. He drinks. He'd been so thirsty. It hadn't occurred to him to try to drink the water until now when he's being made to. Then the hose is pulled away to the far wall again, the water turned off.

Derek looks down, water dripping from his nose and chin, watching the bulk of it swirl down the drain. Now he's freezing. He's so cold his body is shaking. The bowl is slammed down onto the floor in front of him, some of the sludge inside sloshing over the edge onto the floor. It looks like runny oatmeal, maybe.

When he looks up, the man is walking out of the room. Derek calls after him. "Hey! Wait!" The man doesn't wait. He slams the door shut and the lever is put in place, metal grating against metal.

A noise from the back corner of the room gets Derek's attention. He tries to twist around and see, but the collar is restraining him. Soon enough though, he sees two rats skittering across the floor toward the bowl. He has a choice to make here. He's so damn hungry and if he doesn't eat what they give him, now he knows that something else will. He tries to shoo them away with a sweep of his knee and then bends over to quickly lap at the food in the bowl.

Survival of the fittest. He's still fit. He has to survive.

He doesn't share a drop of what's supposed to be food, not even what had sloshed out onto the concrete floor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

In order to sleep, which Derek eventually has to succumb to, Derek has to curl around the hook in the floor that holds his chains. It almost reminds him of his cage in the basement except that he can stretch out his legs without meeting metal bars. His legs aren't hindered at all. Eventually he wakes up, unable to sleep anymore and pushes up to his knees. He'd expected someone to be in the room with him by now, but he's left alone with too much time to think.

He realizes then that this is like when they work a case with the BAU. Sometimes they let a suspect sweat, keeping him waiting in the interrogation room before they go in to question them. It's a psychological game. Derek doesn't much care for being on the receiving end of psychological games. He's finding that his body can physically withstand a lot. It's the head games that get him more than anything else. Maybe it makes it all the worse that he knows what they're doing to him.

Who are the brutes that woman had mentioned? Who is that woman? Is a woman in charge of the Art Gallery? The FBI has never considered that possibility as far as he knows, but she seems like she's in charge. What did Martin mean when he said the next few days were going to be rough for him? Derek plays the entire conversation with Martin over again in his mind. He wants to remember it for some reason. He thinks through it at least five times before his mind wanders to something else.

_Fuckin' whore. You whore. Love fuckin' this whore pussy._

Derek pushes Jay's words away and tries to focus back on the situation at hand. Instead, he gets lost in remembering Sarah's dead eyes staring back at him as blood pooled around her head. "No." He tells himself. He can't keep thinking about that. As hard as it is, thinking about Sarah's execution will only be a weakness. But the moment he says the one word, no, he hears Martin.

_Bad word, Derek. No is a bad word._

Derek thinks the word in his mind, again and again, trying to give it more power than Martin's reprimand. _No. No. No._ He things it over and over again before saying it out loud. "No."

_Bad word, Derek._

"No!" He says it so loud that it echoes off the walls.

Immediately after that the metal lock on the door sounds. Derek looks up, almost thankful for the distraction from his own mind even though he's terrified of what's on the other side of that door. The door creaks open on it's hinges, light from the hallway pouring into the dark space. Two men stand in the doorway, one of them stepping just inside and the other leaning a shoulder against the frame and folding his arms over his chest.

"Well, well, well. Look at this one. When they said we got a big dude to play with I wasn't so sure they knew what big dudes were. But this one... thank the Mistress, I was getting' so damn sick and tired of twinks."

In as much a show of defiance as he can manage, Derek lifts his chin a bit and squares his jaw. He has no idea what's coming, but he has to get through it, whatever it is.

The man against the door frame pushes away. "Look at him all puffed up. It's cute, ain't it?"

The other man chuckles, circling in closer and closer to Derek. "Real cute. Gotta say I'm gonna have fun with this one. Fuckin' every hole he's got. Cause that's what you are right now." He squats down right in front of Derek, directly in his line of sight and on his level. "You're nothin' but a hole to fuck."

"Yeah..." The other man moves closer. "You're gonna learn how to get good and used, hole. Quicker you learn, easier it'll be on you."

That's the second time Derek has heard that line about it getting easier if he accepts it. Martin has said it too, or some version of it. "And if I say no?"

"Oh." The man in front of him smirks, his grin almost looking hopeful. "You fight us, that'll just make it worse for you, hole." He pauses. "More fun for us though. We're really hopin' you'll fight us."

These men are sadistic, Derek can see that. He feels his heartbeat ricochet up into his throat and swallows hard to try to keep his cool on the outside. How is he supposed to fight these guys when he can't stand up from his knees and his hands are cuffed? His position renders legs and arms useless.

"Think I'll go ahead and break his asshole in." Door jam guy unzips his jeans, walking around behind Derek. 

Derek can't even move to see where he's going but that doesn't mean he doesn't try. Everything is familiar from this point on, at least for awhile. A hand at the back of his neck pushes his face down to the floor. He feels the man's cock between his ass cheeks and tries to wiggle away even though he can't move hardly at all. The other man stays in front of him, just watching, even as Derek cries out at the pain of being entered dry.

"Don't worry. Your hole will get used to it." His rapist says as he pushes deeper and deeper inside. "You gotta learn not to react like that. Act like you want it. Act like you're starvin' for cock and can't wait to get it however you can get it. One cock gets done with you, you say please, yes, can I have more cock."

"Fuck you." Derek grinds out between gasps for air. It really hurts. Maybe he grew numb to the brutality of it while in the basement being raped for days. Maybe he'd had drugs then to help him through it. Maybe he'd had enough days between the basement and here for him to pretend the basement wasn't so bad, a coping mechanism to get him through a horror that wasn't over yet. Maybe that's why Martin hadn't had sex with him during their travels, so this would feel as horrible as it does.

His mind is going a mile a minute, trying to think of what's happening as if he were in the war room at Quantico and he were looking objectively at a case file, as if someone else were the victim. Not himself. Never himself. He wasn't a victim with Carl Buford. He's not a victim now. He won't be a victim. He can get through this.

"That mean I get to break in his mouth?" The man watching the rape says.

The man plowing into him chuckles. "Yeah, you can have his mouth."

Derek speaks through clenched teeth. "You try and I will bite it off."

"That true?" The brute in front of him scratches at his chin. He pulls out his phone and dials. "Hey. The new hole's a biter." He laughs at whatever's on the other end. "Yeah, I know. It's been awhile. See you in a few."

The man behind him seems to finally spill inside him. Then Derek is hauled back up with a hand wrapped around the chain attached to his collar. He coughs, given the way the metal presses against his jugular. "It's okay... it's okay. This is what you're meant for. A hole for fucking."

In front of Derek, he watches the man stand, watches him open his fly and pull out his cock. He comes close, rubbing the tip against Derek's lips. Derek snaps his teeth at it and the man whistles and pulls back with a grin like he isn't even bothered by it.

A man appears at the door with something metal tinkering in his hands. "Here you go." He passes something off then looks at Derek. "Oh man, look at this hole. He's a body builder."

"I know, right?" The guy behind him says. "Got some tight holes that need stretching out."

"I got all kinds of things I can stick up inside of him." He moves in close to Derek's side and grabs Derek's chin, forcing his head back.

A knife is put to his lips, forcing its way between them, cutting into them when Derek almost fights it but then doesn't when sharp blade meets his skin. The flat of the knife is turned vertical between Derek's teeth, forcing his mouth open. Then the man who had sat in front of him and watched came in with something circular that's shoved into his mouth, prying his mouth open impossibly wider. It's clasped at the back of his head and Derek exhales heavily when the sharp knife is removed from his mouth. A trickle of blood from the blade slides down his chin. Derek's mouth is stretched so wide he can't speak or swallow.

"That's better. Now I can break this hole in." His dick still hanging out, the brute gets to his feet and runs the tip of his cock around the circle of Derek's lips again.

Derek wants to say no. He thinks the word no. He whines a sound that could have been the word no and shakes his head.

The brute behind him holds his head still. "The sooner you accept it, the easier it'll be. Right now you're a hole. That's what all slaves down here in the catacombs are, nothin' but holes."

For a brief moment, Derek's mind gets tripped up on the word 'slave'. He doesn't have long to dwell on it though. His mouth is filled in a way the escaped inmates in the basement and Carl himself had never been able to do while they had held him captive. They weren't professionals like these men are.

Fuck, he can't breathe. Derek starts to panic and cough when the back of his throat is constricted. Tears fill his eyes and slip unchecked down his cheeks.

"Breathe through your nose." Is spoken into his ear from behind and Derek gasps a heavy breath in through his nose.

Derek realizes that the man behind him is touching him, stroking his cock. He's hard. How in the hell is he hard right now? He continues to breathe through his nose even while the length of cock in his mouth starts to move. The brute said he would break in Derek's mouth and that's what's happening. Derek tries to stop the tears sliding down his cheeks but they won't be stopped. He wants to be strong. He wants to get through this. Right now he just really feels like... a hole.

That last thought gets him to internally shake himself. _I'm not a hole_ , he thinks. But the psychological aspect of the damage is done. The word 'whore' is instantly replaced with the word 'hole' in his mind-scape.

_What are you, Derek?_

_I'm a hole. Hole is just a word. Hole. Hole. A hole to fuck. Hole is just a word. I'm a hole._

A slap to his cheek pulls him out of it, back into the present where his mouth is being fucked by some random man he's only just met. The man who has already fucked him from behind is hard again, his cock starting to shove it's way back inside. Derek glares up to the man in front of him then over to the guy leaning back against the wall, holding the knife, and watching.

"There he is. We got him back." The brute in front of him says. As he fucks his mouth he strokes a hand gently over his cheek, collecting stray tears. "Lost you there for a bit, hole. Don't let it happen again. You've got a lot to learn and we're here to give you a crash course."

"Yeah." The brute behind him, his breath is warm on Derek's ear. "We'll see how smart you are. How quick you learn."

When his throat fills with cum, Derek coughs, or he tries to cough. The brute makes him take it all and he can feel it slide down his throat. _Breathe through your nose_ , he reminds himself, only it's in the voice of the brute behind him who had just told him to do that very thing, and he does that. It doesn't take the man behind him long to cum again. A cock is deep in his throat the entire time the man behind him cums. And then, a surprise to him, he feels a sudden spike of his own orgasm as the man behind him pulls at his cock and spills his own release onto the floor between the brute's shoes. How is that possible? New tears begin to fall and he hates himself for it.

He hates that he's crying. He hates that he came for them. He hates everything right now, including himself. He hasn't hated himself this much since he was that scared little kid that didn't know what to do with a man he was supposed to be able to trust betraying him the way Carl Buford did.

"Well..." The guy with his cock in his mouth smoothes his thumbs over Derek's cheeks. "Those tears sure are pretty. Don't worry, hole. You'll get used to it."

Both men pull out of him and Derek hopes then that they'll take the metal ring out of his mouth. They don't. All three men leave the room, leaving Derek alone with cum spilling out of his mouth and ass, his own drool on his chin, tears on his cheeks and the stinging beginning of self-loathing as he looks at his own spill dotting the floor in front of him. He can't stop that self-loathing no matter how hard he tries.

_What are you, Derek?_ Carl's voice in Derek's mind sounds so very real right now. And Derek has no idea how to answer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

From that moment on there's a steady stream of the men called 'brutes' who come in his cell, rape him, then leave. So many different men that Derek loses count. They just come in to use the new hole, then they leave. No names are ever used in front of him. They're just men, a large collection of men, who come into his cell, use him, rape him, then leave.

Derek's jaw aches. The place where his neck meets his shoulders aches from the weight of the collar around his neck. He would give almost anything to have the use of his arms, to be able to stretch them out further than the small chain between the cuffs allows him to. He would give almost anything to be able to stand up. Sometimes he lays on his side and stretches his legs out just to be sure he can still do it. He would give almost anything to be able to close his mouth. His mouth shifts from dry to filled with cum to drool spilling out to drip down his chin, all depending on if something is in his mouth or not. He catches himself wishing for something in his mouth to get his saliva glands going only once before he shuts that thought process down. That's a slippery slope that he doesn't want to go down.

There's one constant in the variety of men who come in and out of his cell though. Each man calls him a hole in varying different ways. Derek feels like a hole. He dreams he's a hole. He lives the life of a hole to fuck and he hates it.

He becomes a professional at breathing through his nose. Not just when there's cock blocking the air passage in his throat, which happens so often that he doesn't even have to think about switching to breathing through his nose anymore, he doesn't even cough or choke anymore. But also, the same man comes in at irregular intervals to spray him down with freezing water, pour some of the water and the sludge that passes for a meal down his throat. He has to breathe through his nose then too. The thing holding his mouth open is never removed, stuff is just put in it. He's a hole to be filled.

When the brutes are in his cell, they leave the door open. Sometimes other brutes come in to watch their friends play with the hole. Sometimes Derek hears distant screams or crying, he assumes from other cells, other people cloistered away in other cells in the catacombs. Sometimes Derek hears those screams in his nightmares. What has to happen to make a person scream like that?

Several days (he thinks) in and Derek has quit screaming, crying and yelling. He isn't sure when he quit, or why, but he only tenses up when he's fucked dry. Maybe he realized that the brutes got pleasure out of hearing him cry out, out of seeing tears slipping down his cheeks, and eventually, like flipping a light switch off, Derek had turned that part of himself off and quit giving them that. It's his own private little 'fuck you' even though he can't say the words.

The man who enters his cell the most often is one of the men who had been in here that first day, the man with the knife who had brought the thing currently holding Derek's mouth open. Each time he's in the cell with Derek, he bends him over and works him as open as he can get him. He doesn't always use his fingers either. He brings anything remotely phallic into the cell and pushes it up inside Derek's ass, fucks him with it, then leaves. Derek has noticed that the things he brings in keep getting bigger and bigger, harder to take into his body without intense pain. Each time this man is in his cell, he makes Derek cum in some way, making sure he gets off on having things put inside of him. Not all of the brutes do that. This one does.

It takes awhile for the shock of what's happening to him here to wear off, for him to find his right mind again, for him to get back out of the center of his situation where everything is painful in every way; emotionally, physically, mentally, and return to being analytical about it. He has to figure out how to get out of this situation. How does anyone get out of the Art Gallery? Martin's parting words echo in his mind.

_No escape._

The door to his cell opens and is flooded with light. The light out in the hallway always seems so bright compared to what's in the cell. Derek knows it just takes his eyes a moment to adjust because eventually even the hallway light isn't all that bright. The brute that likes to stretch him open so wide enters. From his hand dangles a metal baseball bat.

No. There's no way. There's no way the fat end of that bat will fit inside him. Derek starts to shakes his head, trying to say no in the only way he can.

"Aw, come on now, hole. I've been stretchin' you pretty wide. You can take it." He moves around to the back of Derek where he can't see him. But he rests the large tip of the bat on Derek's shoulder, the metal clanking with the metal of his collar so that Derek has to side-eye the large blunt end of it.

"Besides, you aren't supposed to say no." The metal length of the bat slides along his shoulder. "Not in that way anyway. Let me give you an example since you don't seem to be very bright. Do you have a say in how you're used?" Derek's eyes narrow but he doesn't answer.

"Yes or no..." The brute sing-songs the words almost playfully. "Answer me, hole, or I'll find something bigger than this bat. Do you have any say in how you're used?"

The threat is enough to get Derek to shake his head again because he knows the man means it. Given the slightest provocation, he would find something bigger than the bat.

"There. Now see? That's when saying 'no' is okay. It's really easy. Just took you a long time to get it. You're proof that pretty doesn't equal smarts." The bat slides its way off his shoulder, around to the back of his neck over the collar, the tip then sliding down to rest between his shoulder blades. "You know what you need to do or do I need to spell that out for your pea-sized brain too?"

For a brief moment Derek hesitates, even though he knows exactly what he's supposed to do. The gentle pressure of the bat against his spine makes him tense and then bend over, face to the floor and his ass in the air. The bat trails down his spine as he bends over, it slides all the way down to his ass.

"Very good. See? You can learn. You're figuring it out. You can get through this, hole. Your ass is gonna take this bat real easy. But first we've gotta get you ready for it."

That's one consolation. As the items this brute has been fucking Derek with get bigger, he's been using lubricant to make them slide easier. The man sits behind him and starts to slick up his ass, pushing fingers easily inside his stretched hole.

Derek refuses to make any sound for him. He refuses to react any more than he has to. He's very still and very quiet as the brute adds finger after finger. More lubricant is added then Derek feels fingers pressed together to form a cone push into him up to the knuckles, stretching him impossibly wide. His eyes close and his breathing quickens but he resolutely makes no sound. The hand is pushed even further inside and Derek feels so full.

"Oh yeah, been workin' up to this. My whole fuckin' hand is inside you, hole. Feel it?" Oh. Derek can feel it. He can feel every damn bit of it and it's so uncomfortable. "Answer me!" The hand inside him curls into a fist making him feel even more of it. "Can you feel it? Feel your hole bein' used and stretched?"

Derek nods against the cool concrete floor.

"That's right. Just accept it. Relax and let it happen." The brute says. "Deep breaths. You're hyperventilating."

He hadn't even realized how quickly he was breathing. He forces each breath to slow down. Then that fist starts to pump in and out of him. How in the hell is that fist fitting inside of him? He wants it out. He wants this brute out of his cell. He wants to close his mouth. He wants to be left alone.

Finally, that fist is pulled out and stays out. Derek exhales a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Then he feels the cool metal of the baseball bat against his ass and he clenches tight.

"Nuh-uh-uh... it's gonna hurt worse if you don't relax and be what you know you are now. You're a hole. Let it happen." The pressure of the bat on his hole terrifies Derek. It's going to rip him inside out, he thinks. He starts to hyperventilate again, panic welling up inside him. "Deep breaths, hole. Calm down. Relax."

It takes awhile for Derek to get his breathing to slow again. He's surprised that the brute waits out his panic attack, but he does, just barely any pressure of the bat to Derek's ass, not enough to push it inside. Once Derek is as calm as he's going to get, he feels the pressure of the metal, now warming to his skin, grow harder and harder until his stretched hole starts to give under the pressure.

"There we go. That's a good hole." Once that first ring of muscle at the entrance is breached, the bat slides in almost too easily.

Derek is breathing slow, but each breath has a tremble to it that he can't stop. He focuses on trying to stop the tremble, as if that will make the burn and stretch of the bat inside of him go away. It doesn't work. The brute starts to pump the bat inside of him, pulling it out without taking it out of Derek's ass, and then pushing it back in as far as it will safely go. Then he reaches around to grab Derek's cock.

"Gonna make you get off on this, hole. It's gonna feel so good."

For only a second Derek starts to shake his head. But then he doesn't want it to get any worse than it is right now and he stops himself. He truly has no say in what happens to him. He doesn't want to get off on what's happening right now. He hates the way all the blood pools in his groin as he he's jerked off. He grows hard and the bat continues to move inside of him. He tells himself that it's just a physical reaction to being touched, but the truth is that he isn't sure what is what anymore. All the lines are blurred and he wishes so badly to be able to compartmentalize like he used to be able to without one thought bleeding over into another.

His body's reaction is intense, his entire body shuddering, every muscle tight with his orgasm, his spill dots his own thighs and the floor between his knees. He stays quiet through the entire thing and he holds onto that fact. He's not screaming. He's not crying. He makes no sounds except the heaviness of his own breathing.

"Perfect. I like the way you're still fighting it." The brute's hand runs up and down his spine. "Gonna tame you, not break you."

Derek waits for the bat to be pulled out. It isn't and he tries to shift. With the angle of the bat sticking out of his ass, he can't sit up, he can barely move.

The brute walks around to the front of him, heavy work boots just in Derek's line of sight along the concrete floor.

"Think I'm gonna leave you like this for awhile. I'll be back in a few hours."

Something snaps in Derek and he can't stay silent anymore. He makes an angry sound, unintelligible with the way his mouth is pried open. He tries to shift again and can't, moving at all just makes the fact that he's stretched so much and stuffed so full all the more uncomfortable. His next sound is a whimper that he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. It's every bit a plea to take the object out of him. Another panic attack starts to rear it's ugly head inside of him as he listens to boots walk away on the concrete floor. The door is left open, the hallway's light still pouring in.

How long is he going to be left like this? He can't stay like this. What's coming next? Oh god, what's coming next? The only sound is his own quick, uneven breaths and the hushed murmurs out in the hallway.

Derek finally gives in. The scream he emits is loud and hoarse and terrified and angry. It echoes in his cell and out into the hallway. It's everything he's been keeping locked inside finally let out in the sound an abused, caged animal would make. Something sad and depressing, horrifying and wrong.

Later, when everything falls silent again and all there is is his own breathing in his ears, he hears the distinct sound of laughter out in the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are love!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

The brute is true to his word and comes back in what is probably a few hours to remove the bat. It feels like an eternity to Derek. After that, save for the man who comes into the cell to spray him down, water and feed him, Derek is left alone longer than he's been left alone since that first day. His mouth and throat are so dry with it being pried open with nothing in it. He's always so pleased when the man comes in to give him a drink. He doesn't care if the water sprayed on him is freezing anymore. He can accept it for a drink and some food in his stomach.

Derek hadn't realized how badly he'd needed this reprieve from being used as a hole. His mind is every kind of messed up and he needs to straighten some of it before they get to him again. He's not getting anywhere fast going the way he's going. He's starting to forget that there's a world outside of this room and that's not good.

_My name is Derek Morgan. I'm a supervisory special agent with the FBI. I have a mom, two -- one sister, and friends. I have a life outside of this. I'm not a whore. I'm not a hole. I'm a human being. This will pass. I can get through it. I'm strong. I'm brave. My name is Derek Morgan. I'm a supervisory special agent with the FBI. I have a mom, one sister and friends. I have a life..._

He doesn't know how long he repeats this mantra over and over again in his mind. Everything here feels like a long time. But truthfully, he has no idea how long anything really lasts, just that he has to get through it.

The words are repeated over and over until he feels like they sound truthful and sure of themselves. Then he moves on to trying to think his way out of here. He realizes he's been thinking on too grand a scale. He has to think smaller. He doesn't need to be free of the Art Gallery yet. He needs to get out of this room, out of the catacombs and away from the brutes. What is it going to take to do that?

He replays the last conversation he'd had with Martin in his mind, glad that he'd tried to remember it all. Even if he hadn't know then why it seemed important to remember it, he gets it now. Martin had given him every clue he needs to manipulate what's happening to him. It may require letting go of some of his stubbornness, conceding more than he wants to, but the end result could be huge for him and his psychological state that's starting to show signs of weakening.

_This is your life now. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be. You don't have to like it here at the beginning. You just have to accept it._ Martin had said.

Accept it. Derek has to pick his battles, maybe play nice for awhile. He doesn't have to like it, he just has to pretend to accept it. For now.

_you have to go through the darkest points in order to get back into the light._ More of Martin's words.

Derek has been in this dark room for too long. He remembers the light of the sun blinding him through the crack in the wooden crate he'd been transported in. He wants to be blinded again. He wants to see the sun and he'll do what he has to do to make that happen.

_You can get through the dark parts, Derek. You just have to figure out how._

He just has to figure out how to get out of this room. Other goals will come, small goals. But first, getting out of the catacombs is his goal. It takes some compartmentalization in his head space to accept that he isn't going to be rescued, that he isn't going to participate in some grand sweeping twist of luck that hands him an escape plan. He has to pick at his freedom, tiny step by tiny step.

The metal lock on his door echoes in the room and Derek looks up. He doesn't think he's ready to be fucked again after the baseball bat incident. Or maybe he is now that there's a little more order to his thoughts. The door creaks open and the brute who had first fucked his mouth walks in.

"Got a few days rest after that stretching you had. Hope you enjoyed it." Whether he means the stretching or the rest is left hanging in the air. The way the words are said, it could mean either. The man walks straight over to Derek and slides his dick in his mouth, letting it just rest there. Derek automatically shifts to breathing through his nose.

Derek realizes then that his hair has grown some, because the brute pulls at the short curls. Usually Derek keeps it shaved down to his scalp. It feels strange not to have known how much it's grown. He has a short beard too instead of his usual goatee.

"Tell you what, one lick to my cock for yes, two licks for no." The brute says. "Understand?"

The man is going to make him lick him? Pick your battles, he tells himself. His tongue lifts to slide over the cock in his mouth just once for yes."

"Ohhh I think you're getting smarter." There's a wicked smile here. "Tell me the truth. You still a biter?"

_You can get through the dark parts, Derek. You just have to figure out how._

Derek tries to smooth away some of the harsh glare in his eyes. Two licks at the man's cock tells him no, he's not still a biter.

"You won't bite anything that gets put in this hole right here?" His thumb rubs at the side of Derek's open mouth.

Two licks. Is it possible that he'll finally get this ring out of his mouth? It's an even smaller goal than getting out of this room and out of the catacombs but Derek suddenly wants it so bad. Can he even still close his mouth?

"You understand that if you bite it gets put right back in and you're gonna have to pay for it?"

Derek licks the man's cock once. Yes, he understands and please take it out. When he realizes that his eyes are pleading with the man, he tries to make them harder around the edges again. He isn't sure if he's successful or not.

The brute hums thoughtfully, sliding a hand to the back of Derek's head and fucking his throat a few times before something snaps back there beneath the man's hand. Straps are loosened and the man pulls his cock out of Derek's mouth. He kneels in front of Derek and cups either side of his face.

"I want you to hold your mouth open wide when I take this out. It's gonna hurt like hell and you won't be able to close your mouth right away. You got it?"

Derek nods. Then the metal is removed from his mouth. When the strain on his mouth is gone, the pain in his jaw hits him full force and he involuntarily emits a pitiful sound, something like a whimper. The brute massages either side of his face at the joints to his jawbone.

"Now anytime someone wants to put their cock in your mouth, you're gonna open up, aren't you?"

Derek nods.

"Anytime you're offered pussy, you're gonna make that pussy meow with this pretty mouth of yours. Yeah?"

Derek nods, his mouth closing slowly in very small increments. It hurts and he still can't close it all the way. The brute keeps massaging his jaw, down his neck and shoulders, back up to his jaw.

"Anytime anything is put in front of you that you're meant to suck on, you're gonna take it, no hesitation, no complaints."

Derek nods again. Right now he's just so thankful to have that thing out of his mouth. It takes a long time and the brute is almost kind about the way he stays there and massages to help Derek shut his mouth. But finally it's shut all the way. His jaw muscles still ache and probably will for awhile.

"Now, let me tell you what you're gonna do with this mouth when someone isn't putting something in it." He says. "You're gonna say 'yes sir' and 'no sir', 'yes madam' and 'no madam' to anyone who speaks to you unless you're told otherwise. Go ahead and try it out on me."

Pick your battles, Derek. Get out of this room. "Yes sir." He whispers, throat still too dry and raw from being exposed to open air and his own screams several days ago.

"That's good. You don't speak unless you're asked a question or told to do somethin'. You might be given permission to speak freely at some points, then you can do that. Otherwise, you're to be seen and not heard, like a piece of art on the wall. You get that?"

"Yes sir."

The brute smiles then, a wicked sort of grin. "Your eyes are on fire right now. I can see how much you hate this. But you're gettin' the hang of it. Don't gotta like it. Just accept it. There are people out there who are gonna pay top dollar for that look in your eyes while you're doin' what you're told. Don't get many slaves like you through here."

Derek can't help the way his jaw flexes and he has to clamp his mouth shut tight at being called a slave. He keeps repeating the words in his mind, reminding himself that he has to pick his battles.

"You don't want to be a hole for forever, do you?"

"No sir."

"Good. I mean, we'd love to keep you here. But the Mistress has other plans for you. Once you leave the catacombs, you'll be more than a hole. What are you right now?"

It takes Derek a moment. "I'm a hole."

"You're a hole _what_?"

"I'm a hole, Sir." Hole is just a word. It's just a word.

"Eventually you're gonna meet the Mistress. She isn't a madam. You call her Mistress. Yes Mistress. No Mistress. You flub that up you're gonna end up right back here and we'll be glad to see you."

He's going to try so hard not to end up back here. Derek knows he's going to have to play it smart. The first glimmer of hope that he's felt in a long while sparks to life inside of him. He can get through this. He can get out of here. At least, out of the catacombs. Small goals. Think small.

"Now, you don't get out of here until we decide you're ready. I'm about to give you permission to speak and this is what I want you to say: May I please you, Sir? Say it." There's a slight tug at his hair with that command.

"May I please you, Sir?" Derek says it like a statement, not a question.

"Good. Every man who comes in here is gonna be met with that question. Then you're gonna let them do whatever they want to you. You're gonna be the most accommodating hole there is. Prove to us that you're more than a hole, that you're eager to please, we give them word that you're ready for the next phase." He leans in close, making sure Derek is looking at him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes sir." Asking all of the brutes to let him please them is going to be hard as hell. But he's seeing a light at the end of this horrific tunnel in the catacombs now. He'll do what he has to do. It isn't giving in. It's survival. Right?

"Go ahead and ask me, hole."

It takes Derek several seconds to realize what he's supposed to say. He swallows hard and draws in a deep breath, steeling himself before he says the words. "May I please you, Sir?"

"Good hole." The brute gets back to his feet and offers Derek his cock. It hurts to open his mouth that wide but he does so and waits.

"Lick it."

Oh. Now he has to actively participate. Derek almost hesitates, but remembers the warning of what will happen if he doesn't get right to it. He laps at the brute's cock.

"That's right, get into it. Dip that tongue in the slit. Yeah, like that. Around the head. And lick it again. Now suck on it. There you go."

Derek does everything he's instructed to do, thinking about what comes next after the catacombs the entire time. 'The next phase', this brute had called it. What could that be? He takes instruction on what the brute wants him to do with his mouth on his cock. Eventually, the man ends up fucking his throat again. Derek lets him, careful to keep his teeth out of the way. No biting. The brute spills down his throat and then pulls out, a string of cum snapping free from his cock and landing on Derek's chin.

The brute grins and swipes the cum away from Derek's beard, pushing his thumb between his lips. Derek takes the hint and licks the stray spill away.

"Good hole. You're gonna be good for my friends, aren't you?"

"Yes sir."

The brute slaps his palm against Derek's cheek, a pat that's perhaps a little harder than necessary, then he leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

Again, time seems to stretch out in front of him. He has no idea how much time passes. Derek just tries not to do anything that might slow down his path out of the catacombs. Every brute that comes into his cell is greeted with his 'may I please you, sir?', words that are now a genuine question rather than a repetitive statement as he'd given to the brute who had told him to say them.

Derek doesn't know how many times he asks the question. It's the only thing he says for a very long time aside from the occasional 'yes sir' and 'no sir' and 'I'm a hole' when asked questions or given certain prompts. He's so careful not to say anything else, not to do anything that would anger the men, give them reason to keep him here longer than he has to be here.

And yet... it feels like a very long time, he's fucked so many times, and he's still here.

When he's alone in his cell, he mouths the words to songs he can remember. He talks to himself, whispered conversations with no one. He recites movie lines that had once amused him to the point that he'd memorized them. Anything to say things that aren't 'may I please you, sir'.

Eventually his cuffs are taken off. There are no words for how good it feels to stretch his arms out, above his head, at his sides, back, forward, every which way. His shoulders and neck ache with it. And when the brutes come in and he asks his question, he's instructed to clasp his hands together behind his back. It becomes a part of the routine. Someone enters his cell, he asks his question and his hands automatically go behind his back. He lets them fuck him. He licks their cocks. They leave.

Time stretches out even more. Derek does what he's supposed to do, what he has to, like a well oiled machine to the point that he doesn't think much about it anymore. He's given water from the hose. He eats the slop from the bowl on the floor before the rats can get to it. He asks if he can please people. He lets them fuck him. He sucks cock. He gets sprayed down by freezing cold water. He sleeps. Rinse and repeat.

The door to his cell has been kept open lately. Derek is lying on the floor in that place between awake and asleep when he realizes that a man is standing in the doorway. He pushes up to his knees, the chain links connecting his collar to the floor clinking together as he does. Derek clasps his hands together behind his back. "May I please you, Sir?"

"We're very pleased by you, pet."

Pet? They've always called him hole. _My name is Derek Morgan_ , he reminds himself. No one has used his name in so long. He's having to remind himself of it more and more frequently.

More men enter the space and Derek repeats the question to them too. There are six men in the room by the time people are finished entering it. Derek asks the question five more times like a broken record. One man steps forward and unlocks the metal collar at his neck. The loss of it makes him feel naked. He has to remind himself that he's been naked this whole time.

Derek stays on his knees until three of the brutes are surrounding him and helping him to his feet. His knees buckle from lack of use except for kneeling and the men catch him and hold him up.

"It's time for you to go somewhere else, pet. You're not a hole anymore." One of the men says as they slowly help him walk toward the hallway.

As Derek steps past the door frame, out of that dark cell and into the hallway, another man whispers into his ear. "Just remember that this road isn't one-way."

The implication is clear. He could always end up back here if he plays the wrong card.

The brute who had put the baseball bat inside of him steps in front of him, grinning. "You ready, pet?"

Derek nods. "Yes sir."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

The hallways seem to go on forever down here. He's led past cell door after cell door, not knowing if they're occupied by a hole or not. Not a hole, a _person_. He hears one of those horrific screams somewhere behind him, the sound of a person being ripped apart from the inside out just as Derek had been. No, Derek doesn't want to end up back in the catacombs. He'll do what he has to do to keep that from happening.

His legs are slowly remembering how to operate on their own and eventually the brutes aren't having to hold him up anymore. They keep hands on his arms at either side of him though. He's following two of the brutes. Two are at either side of him. Two brutes are behind him. They're all fully clothed. Derek, since the collar had been taken off, strangely enough, has been even more aware of his nakedness. He dutifully keeps his hands clasped together behind his back as they walk.

Eventually they stop at large metal double doors. One of the brutes punches numbers into a keypad and presses his thumb to a scanner. The doors unlock and they go through them. After a short hallway, he's taken up a flight of stairs. His legs protest at being used in this way after being off of them for so long. But he makes it up the stairs without help from the brutes. Derek is proud of that tiny thing.

_Small steps, small goals. Think small._

There's another keypad, the numbers beeping as the brute punches them in, another thumb print scanner, then the next double door click unlocked. They're pushed open and six armed guards with automatic weapons stand on the other side. They look rigid and militant compared to the roughness and rowdiness of the brutes.

"This is where we say goodbye, pet." One of the brutes says. "We _really_ hope to see you again." That last bit is said with an amused sneer and a hard slap to his ass that propels Derek forward.

Derek is transferred to the militants and starts down the hallway in the same fashion, only with different men; two in front, two at either side of him with one hand on each of his arms, two behind him. Derek wants to ask so many questions but he knows he's not supposed to speak.

_Pick your battles. Patience._

The guards never say a word to him as he's led down a long hall to another set of double doors. As another code is put into a keypad and another thumb scanned, all Derek can think is that he has to be getting closer to being free. He can't wait to see out of a window, to see the sun, to feel the fresh air on his skin. He has to stop that train of thought as he's led down another shorter hallway and hasn't seen a window yet. He's starting to think too big again. He has to think small.

Through another set of double doors, these without a keypad and scanner, Derek is walked through what looks like a medical lab. There are doctors and nurses in lab coats standing at tables in front of lab equipment, sitting at desks and looking through files. Rooms are set off to either side with beds in them that look like the sort you'd see at any doctor's office. Some of the beds have naked people in them, men and women. Some are empty.

No one seems to pay him any mind as he's ushered naked through the large main room and back through another set of double doors. There's a short hallway and then another set of metal double doors that one of the guards has to use another keypad and thumb scan to get into. Derek is led down a hallway with white sterile looking rooms on either side. The walls facing the hallway are glass, no privacy. Outside of each room is one guard. Some of the rooms have naked people in them.

This operation, the Art Gallery, is huge and has a lot of funding, Derek is quick to take note of.

At one of the glass panels, a guard pushes a button on the wall and the glass slides open. Derek wouldn't have even known there was a door there. He's walked inside the room. There's a cushioned pallet in the middle of the tiled floor, big enough for a very large dog, or, he supposes, a human. In one corner there's a glass-walled shower. Next to it is a commode. No privacy.

The room has mirrored walls all the way around except for the one wall facing the hallway, which is entirely glass. Derek can't avoid looking at his own reflection. He's lost weight. The curls on top of his head are wild and unruly. His beard is a mess. It takes him a moment to accept that this image he's looking at is himself. He's unrecognizable.

One of the guards steps into the room. He gestures to the pallet. "This is where you'll sleep, pet. The pallet is never to be moved. It will always be in the middle of the room. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Derek automatically answers, forcing himself to look away from his own reflection. He doesn't want to look at whoever that is anymore.

The guard walks over to the shower opens the glass door and points to a panel. "This top button turns on the shower spray. The temperature is set externally so you don't worry about that. This bottom button works the wand."

Wand? Derek sees the attachment to the wall, a long metal wand looking thing. It takes him a moment to realize what he's supposed to do with it.

"Just press the buttons again to turn the water off." The guard steps back over to the door with the other guards. "You're to shower and use the wand every morning. It's morning."

Derek glances at the six guards watching him and then nods. He's supposed to go shower now. He moves close to the shower and steps into the glass and closes the door. He braces himself for freezing cold water and then presses the top button. The cool spray hits him with a comfortable pressure from the shower head. Then the water starts warming up.

He can't help himself. He exhales a pleased breath that has a soft moan with it and closes his eyes, tilting his face up into the warm water. This is a luxury. _The temperature is set externally_ , he remembers the guard saying. The implication is there. Luxuries can be taken away.

A tap on the glass makes him open his eyes to see one of the guards standing just on the other side. "Use the sponge and the soap." He points to the tiled wall where a shelf is with both items.

Derek picks up the sponge and pours soap on it. Both are luxuries, he reminds himself. The soap smells flowery. Derek has no idea what scent it is as the bottle has no label. He starts to wash himself, soap suds cleaning his body in a way it hasn't been cleaned in so long. He wants to take his time but he's being watched, and closely.

"The wand." The guard just outside the shower says. "Three times."

Oh he really doesn't want to do this. He can still taste the brutes in his mouth, feel them in his ass. He isn't going back to the catacombs. He has to do this. Derek unhooks the wand from the wall and maneuvers himself so that he can push it up inside. Some of the guards shift to get a better view. Then Derek presses the button and water starts filling up his bowels. He waits until he feels that familiar cramp and then shuts it off.

When he looks over to the toilet outside the shower, the guard shakes his head and points down to the floor of the shower. Derek looks down to find the drain is a large hole. He's forced to squat down and release the water and whatever else right there in front of these men. He does this three times, then is instructed to use the sponge once more before turning off the shower. He steps out onto a small mat and instinctively looks for a towel. Silly of him, he immediately scolds himself.

"No towels. You never cover yourself with anything, pet, not without permission." The guard says. "You stand there to dry. Then you can go to your pallet and kneel or lie down. If someone is in the room with you, you'll kneel." A pause. "Where should your hands be?"

Derek hadn't even noticed that his arms were crossed over his chest. He quickly fixes that, clasping them behind his back. The guard seems to accept this with a nod and then moves over to the door. All the guards file out into the hallway. The door hisses shut and Derek is left standing there on the mat to air dry.

All but one of the guards leaves. The one that remains stands outside of Derek's door with his back to the glass. Occasionally, he looks back to check on Derek, then resumes his position. The man is tall and broad, maybe the same height as Derek, but more stocky. He has tanned skin and a shaved head.

Once Derek is mostly dry, he moves over to the pallet to kneel. The cushion is soft, with a lot of give to it. It's comfortable. It isn't concrete. Across the hall, through another glass door and past another guard that his guard sometimes talks to, there's another room just like this one. A man kneels on his pallet, slimmer and smaller than Derek, tanned skin instead of brown. His hands are clasped behind his back and he looks down at the floor and never looks up. To the left of that room he can just make out another man, pale skin, kneeling on his pallet and never looking up. This man is trembling, shaking. To the right of the room across from him, the room looks empty, waiting for an occupant.

For a long time Derek kneels there. There's no grand sweeping escape plan presenting itself here. He has to bide his time. Think small. Baby steps. Small goals. His time will come.

Eventually, a man in a white lab coat appears outside his door, holding an iPad in his hands and looking at something. This man is older with a shock of white hair and chiseled features. He briefly speaks with the guard outside of Derek's door before the button is pressed and the glass slides open.

"Our newest pet in the men's wing. I'm Doctor Young." Derek is so shocked at being given an actual name that he misses the way the man looks him over, walking an entire circle around him to take him in from head to toe, front to back. "Oh aren't you pretty, so much potential."

Derek has a brief spike of panic as words want to automatically spill out of his mouth but he isn't certain they're required. He doesn't want to have to say them unless they're required. In the end, with the catacombs still so fresh in his mind, he errs on the side of caution. "May I please you, Sir?"

"Very good." So Derek has done the right thing. "I think we'll pass today, let you get acclimated to your surroundings. Isn't this much nicer than the catacombs?"

"Yes sir."

"Being a pet is so much better than being a hole."

The older man stops in front of Derek again. "Tell me your name."

It's been so long since anyone has used his name that Derek hesitates here. He wants to get the answer right and he can't help looking for the catch, reading between the lines, trying to solve some puzzle whether it's there or not. He wants to play their game so that he doesn't have to go back to the catacombs. He's not a whore. He's not a hole. "Pet?"

Doctor Young chuckles and shakes his head. "That's what you _are_. I want to know your name."

"Derek." Saying his name aloud feels strange for some reason. He doesn't like that it feels so strange. _I'm Derek Morgan_. He says it again, a reiteration of fact. "I'm Derek." And then belatedly, he adds, "Sir."

The doctor seems pleased with this and nods. "Derek Morgan. I have your name in my file, of course. But in the catacombs there are no names, only holes and brutes. Many slaves come out of there having forgotten they have a name. You're different. The Mistress doesn't want you broken. I can see the brutes left you in tact."

Really? Left in tact? Derek feels like he's been ripped apart and taped back together only the pieces of himself don't quite align the way they once did. He keeps questioning himself. Things that used to make sense and be an absolute certainty, aren't anymore. He hears voices in his head that don't belong there. He no longer has his safe space where he once could retreat to when horrible things were happening to him. And he sure as hell doesn't recognize whatever reflection those mirrored walls are throwing off. He can't say any of this, of course. He stays quiet.

"You survived just over six weeks down there, pet. You're strong."

Six weeks. Derek was in hell for six weeks. It feels shorter than that in some ways, also longer. Much longer.

"This man right here is, Nick, your personal guard." Doctor Young gestures to the man who has been standing outside of his cell. "He's here to see that you're safe at all times. He's your greatest ally, pet. He can also be your greatest enemy. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

A cart is rolled into his room by another younger man in a lab coat. Derek can't really see everything on it from his kneeling position. 

He begrudgingly says what he's supposed to. "May I please you, Sir?"

The young doctor only shakes his head then begins to assist Doctor Young in the most ordinary of medical practices. He takes Derek's blood pressure, shines a bright light in his eyes, presses a tongue depressor on his tongue and checks his throat, then checks his temperature in his ear. He requests one of Derek's arms and slips a needle into his vein, drawing out four large vials of his blood. Then, humiliatingly enough, he kneels down in front of Derek and holds his cock to a cup, telling him to piss. It takes a few minutes for him to make it happen, but Derek pisses in the cup.

After that, he passes the cup up to the other doctor and is handed another cup. Doctor Young starts jerking Derek's cock off and Derek's hands clench hard together behind his back to keep from trying to move or get away from the man. His breath hitches in his throat and then his spill comes quick and fast, so very clinical in nature as the doctor passes the cup of cum up to the younger man and then reaches between Derek's legs to grip and pull and test the weight of his sac.

"Very good." Doctor Young says, getting to his feet again and then reaching out to run his fingers through Derek's curls. He yanks out a few strands, slips them into a small bag, sets it on top of the cart. He grabs some medical gloves and snaps them onto his hands. "Now bend over."

Derek almost hesitates, but he doesn't, bending over so that his face is pressed into the cushion. He's ready because he has to be. The pallet smells of laundry soap. He wonders who knelt on this pallet before him. Then he feels the doctor's fingers, gloved and slicked up with something, sliding inside of his ass. Doctor Young probes his insides like that for a good while, chuckling when Derek's body jerks as that cluster of nerves is pressed against. "Good, good. That's a good pet."

The doctor pulls his fingers out and stands up, moving to the cart. He drops the gloves in a hazard bin on the bottom level of the cart then tells Derek he can sit up.

"I bet you're hungry, thirsty and sleepy." Doctor Young stops by Derek and pets his hair, smoothing his hand back over it a few times. "Food will be sent in shortly. If Nick gives you permission, you might get to use your hands to eat it. Won't that be exciting? Tomorrow's a big day, pet. If you need something to help you sleep tonight, tell me now."

"No thank you, Sir." Derek wants the use of all his faculties. No drugs.

"Of course." Doctor Young pats his head and then is out the door with the other doctor and the cart with all of his samples on it.

That's it? After the brutality of the catacombs, Derek is left feeling unsettled with the normalcy of the Doctor's visit. Well, it might not be normal outside of this place, but compared to where he's been, it feels... 

He realizes then that he'd still been expecting to be fucked. His body had expected it. His entire self has been ready for it. It didn't happen and his body is thrown off kilter for some reason. He feels like things are incomplete. Has his body grown so accustomed to it that it needs it? No. No no no... 

That unfinished feeling leaves him looking over to Nick, his personal guard. Derek doesn't say anything. He isn't supposed to speak. But at the same time, he's terrified of what might have come out of his mouth right then if he'd said anything.

A naked man with a collar around his neck and something poking out of his ass between his cheeks brings a tray to Nick and hands it to him, then leaves. When the door opens, the words are out of Derek's mouth before he can think to stop them. "May I please you, Sir?" Was Derek even supposed to ask that? Damn. He hates that he asked that and almost sounded needy about it.

"No thank you." Nick nods his approval at the question as he brings the tray into Derek's room and sets it down in front of the pallet. On the tray is some bread that smells and looks freshly baked and some fruit; strawberries, grapes and a sliced up peach. There's a plastic cup of water. Real food.

There's a moment here where they both look at one another, Derek waiting, Nick enjoying that Derek is waiting. Then, finally, Nick nods. "You can use your hands." He might as well have said 'good boy'. 

Derek eats his first real meal in over six weeks.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

Derek savors every bite. He eats slowly, the flavor of everything shocking his taste buds since they've tasted nothing for so long. The slop he'd had in the catacombs hadn't had any flavor. Nick watches him eat and drink his water, then takes the tray back outside of the cell when he's done. The tray is set on a table in between cells with other empty trays.

It doesn't take long for Derek to fee nauseated. His stomach starts rolling and he instinctively crawls the short distance to the toilet, just barely making it before he loses what he'd just eaten. The hissing sound means the glass door has slid open. Combat boots appear beside him. Nick is here, watching him puke until he has nothing but dry heaves.

"It'll take some time for your stomach to get used to real food again." Nick sounds so matter-of-fact about it, like he's seen this a hundred times, and he probably has. Once Derek is just laying there with his cheek to the side of the toilet, Nick flushes it for him. "Go lay down on your pallet."

Derek does so and closes his eyes, still feeling the chills that come with expelling everything in your stomach. There's nothing to cover up with though. He isn't supposed to cover himself. He just rolls onto his side with his back to the glass and curls up.

That night he's brought the same meal, Nick watches him eat it again. This time Derek is less enthusiastic about it. Nick has to prod him a few times to get him to keep going but eventually he's eaten it all. He feels nauseated again, his stomach gurgling, but he manages to keep it down.

At some point all the lights in the cells shut off with a single click. The light in the hallway dims to a dull yellow. The guards swap out to what Derek assumes is the night shift. Derek sees the man across the way lie down on his pallet. He does the same and, amazingly enough, drifts off to sleep.

When the lights come back on Derek wakes up, surprised that he'd slept so long and so soundly. He'd never slept that well in the catacombs. Across the hallway, the man is stepping into the shower and Derek remembers that he's supposed to do that too. The night guard is gone. Nick is back outside of his door standing resolutely with his back to the glass.

Getting to his feet, Derek takes a moment to stretch out the aches and pains that still linger. He also takes a moment to appreciate the fact that he can stand up. He makes quick work of his shower. A glance across the way finds the other man using the wand in his shower. It also finds Nick in the hallway watching him. Derek uses the wand in his shower three times as he's supposed to. Then he turns the water off and steps out onto his mat to dry.

Nick nods at him, approving of all of this, Derek assumes, then turns his back to the glass again. Once he's dry-ish, Derek goes back to his pallet to kneel on it. He tries to catch the gaze of the man across the hall as he stands air drying, but the man never looks up from the floor. Derek notices that he stands on his mat longer than Derek did, waiting to be completely dry before going back to his pallet. Never once does the man look up.

A glance to the left of that cell across the hallway shows the other man kneeling on his pallet, shivering, always trembling. 

Derek catches sight of himself in the reflection of the mirror on the wall. It still doesn't look like himself. In fact, Derek hates what he's looking at. He wants to look away. But the image gets blurry and he realizes his eyes have filled with tears. He quickly swipes away the dampness and clasps his hands behind his back again. If he starts that he'll never stop. A slow, deep breath pushes the inclination to cry away.

"I survived." He whispers to himself. He survived the catacombs. "It's okay." Derek glances over at the mirror again, looking at the stranger in the mirror who's not a biter, who opens his mouth and bends over and asks 'may I please you, sir', the man who felt incomplete when he wasn't fucked last night. When had rape turned into fucking? Or had he just changed that in his mind to make it easier? "It's okay. We're okay. I'm okay. I'm okay."

Nothing is okay.

He looks away from the mirror to see Nick watching him curiously. How long he'd been watching, Derek isn't sure. Had he seen him almost cry? Derek makes it a point to harden his look, make himself all sharp edges and stronger than he feels. He lifts his chin, squares his shoulders, his eyes feel like they turn to steel and he doesn't look away.

Nick smiles.

 

* * *

 

It's some time later when Nick comes into his room. Derek automatically asks if he can please him. Nick says no. Outside his cell are two other guards waiting on them.

"It's time to go. Stand up."

Derek stands up and is instructed to follow the two guards. Nick walks just behind him. He's led back through the hallways to the main area filled with doctors. He's taken to one of the exam rooms where he's told to sit on the bed and he does so. Nick stays in the room with Derek. The other two guards stand outside of the room.

After a few moments, Doctor Young walks in all smiles. "Good morning, pet. I'm told you slept very well last night. I'm glad. We have a few things that we need to do today. The tests we've gotten back have come back clean as a whistle. You're quite healthy, pet, in spite of the brutes."

Strange how Derek hadn't thought about that, about how unsafe his rape had been, both in the basement and then in the catacombs. There's probably several things that Derek doesn't let himself think about. Bigger problems.

Doctor Young's assistant wheels in another cart. There are several things on it, one of which is a miniature tattooing machine and needle. Derek has had plenty of tattoos in his time to recognize it. His shoulders are tattooed, his back, one of his legs. The first thing Doctor Young picks up is a massive metallic needle.

"This is going to sting a little." He says, coming close to put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Look down."

Derek glances over to Nick for some odd reason, he isn't sure why. Then he makes himself look down. The needle slides into the back of his neck where it meets his shoulder. Something cool, the obvious feel of something foreign under his skin, then the needle is pulled out and the doctor is pressing some gauze over the skin.

"That's very good, pet. You're being very good. In a few minutes you won't even be able to feel that it's in there."

Won't be able to feel that _what_ is in there? What did he just put inside of him?

"Lie on your stomach."

Derek does so, lying face down on the table. He's instructed to fold his arms up underneath his head and he does this. The end of the table is pulled out to support his legs. Then he hears the buzz of the tattoo needle and he's told to lie still. He feels the sting at the outside of his leg just above his left ankle bone and forces himself to stay still. It only takes twenty minutes to a half hour, then the buzzing stops.

He doesn't get to see what they've done just yet. The doctor is instructing him to bend his knees and spread his legs. Derek's body tenses and he prepares himself mentally to be fucked as he takes this position that exposes his ass to the three men in the room. He sees Doctor Young pick up a speculum from the table. 

_What's happening? Calm. Be calm. Pick your battles. You can't even see outside yet. Your time will come._

The doctor seems to sense Derek growing uneasy, feel the tension in his body. He pets at his lower spine. "There there, pet. You're okay. You're going to be just fine. Nick, you might go up and sit with your charge."

A chair is put by the head of the bed and Derek looks over to Nick as he sits in it. His automatic is slung across his back and he leans in to put his hand in Derek's.

"You're okay. You said that in your room, remember? You said it to your reflection in the mirror. Remember?"

Nick could hear him? Derek can't hear anything out in the hallway from in his room. His gaze flicks to the earpiece hanging from Nick's collar that isn't in his ear at the moment and he understands. Yes, Nick can hear him.

He feels the cool press of slick metal as it slowly pushes into his ass and he nods at Nick. "Yes sir. I remember."

"Then you looked at me with fire in your eyes." Nick grins at the memory. "You're okay. This is just gonna take a little bit of time. Not much time at all." Nick runs his other hand back over Derek's curls. "Take some deep breaths for me, pet."

Derek breathes slowly as the speculum is pushed inside of him.

Nick adds, almost as if the idea just occurred to him, looking as if the prospect of allowing this will amuse him to no end. "You can speak freely."

There's a hesitation here as Derek once again over-analyzes, looking for any catch that might be there. The speculum cranks and starts to spread him open. "What was in the needle?" He asks, then adds. "Sir."

"A tracker and a computer chip. It's for your own safety." Nick answers easily, seeming to know that Derek was going to ask that. "You're in the Art Gallery now. You're always gonna be taken care of."

"The tattoo, Sir?" Another click of the speculum and he's spread wider.

"Bar code. In case the chip fails or is taken out."

"Little pricks." Doctor Young warns behind him as his assistant hands him a syringe.

They'd put a damn bar code on him, like he's a _thing_. Derek's jaw tenses and flexes to keep from saying what he really thinks about that. "And this?" He says through clenched teeth as he feels several needle insertions in interior muscle that has never felt anything like that before. "What's this, Sir?"

Nick smiles a little and squeezes Derek's hand in his. "A boost that's gonna make things feel good for you. You're getting some upgrades today."

"My own little experimental concoction." Doctor Young sounds so proud of what he's doing back there between Derek's legs. "It's going to make you very sensitive right here, like any good pet should be."

Derek doesn't want to be sensitive back there, but he doesn't move an inch as Doctor Young switches out needles, one empty for a full one and continues his administrations. He falls silent, unsure of what else to say at the moment.

When Doctor Young is done, the speculum is snapped shut and pulled out of Derek. The doctor rubs a hand over the fleshy curve of Derek's ass, petting him there for a moment before pulling away. The doctor picks up one more syringe off of the table and goes back to petting Derek's buttock. Then the syringe is put into his skin. He can feel the fluid entering him.

"And that, sir?" Derek asks Nick.

"It's gonna knock you out for the surgery." Nick says, and after a moment, he squeezes his hand again. "Deep breaths, Derek. You're panicking. It's just another upgrade."

Derek hadn't even noticed that he was breathing so hard, how tightly he's holding on to Nick's hand. His lips form the word 'no' without putting at volume behind it. Then it doesn't matter anymore because the world starts to slip away, grow fuzzy around the edges and fade to black.

He thinks he hears Nick whisper the words 'bad word, pet'.

 

* * *

 

This time Derek's sleep isn't as peaceful as it was the night before. He dreams of metal chains and collars. He dreams of being unable to close his mouth or speak. He dreams of Martin pushing a hose up his ass and Carl calling him a whore. He dreams of his sister Sarah, her eyes no longer dead and lifeless, but looking at him accusingly. Bad word, Derek, she says in the same way someone might say 'your fault, Derek'.

He dreams about being out with the BAU team having a few beers, the way there were some songs that Garcia just _had_ to dance to and the way he could never tell her no. The dream turns twisted and dark though, he's in the middle of the club, naked, on his knees chained and collared. Everyone's looking at him and he's humiliated.

Derek's mind starts returning into consciousness and he's mouthing the words to one of those songs that he used to dance with Penelope to. It's a stupid song, really. "Get your freak on. Go." He whispers the words. "Get your freak on." He thinks he can hear her laughter and Derek almost smiles. Almost.

There's a clicking sound and suddenly the lights in the room are blinding. Derek squints up into them and as his eyes adjust, he realizes he's in his room on his pallet. The man across the hallway is getting up to go take his shower, eyes still trained on the floor.

Nick has pressed the button outside of his door. The glass slides open and he steps inside. He's no nonsense as ever. "Do you need help getting up and into the shower?"

Shaking his head, Derek pushes up and starts trying to get to his feet. He falls back to the pallet and immediately tries again. This time Nick grabs his arm and helps him up, leading him over to the shower. The glass shower door is open and Nick puts Derek inside. He waits to make sure Derek is steady, then pushes the button to turn on the water and close the door.

"The sponge and the soap, Derek." Nick reminds him.

Derek shakes his head, this time to try to shake some of the grogginess from his mind. The warm water helps. It feels good against his skin. Derek picks up the sponge and the soap, starts half-heartedly cleaning himself. He finds a bandage on the inside of his left arm and cleans right over it. Then he looks at the wand. He looks out to Nick on the other side of the glass.

The first time he gets the wand inside of himself, it takes maneuvering, it's slow-going, but he does it. Then when he squats over the hole in the floor to expel what's inside of him, he falls to the tiled floor.

Nick opens the glass door and turns off the shower spray. He picks Derek up, bends him over and pushes the wand in him a second time. With an arm under each of his, he helps him squat and stay up. He does all of this one more time then stands Derek up. "Rinse." He presses the button for the shower head and warm water spills over Derek again.

When he's done, Derek steps out onto the mat and stands there, leaning back against the glass shower wall. He's taken so much time that the man across the way is already kneeling on his pallet again.

Nick reaches for his arm and removes the bandage. Derek looks down to see an incision in his arm, a small disc barely visible under his skin. Nick puts a clean bandage over it and tapes it in place.

"Go kneel on your pallet."

He isn't even dry yet. But Derek goes to his pallet and kneels there.

"Ask me." Nick moves to stand in front of the pallet.

Derek looks up to him, not sure what he's supposed to ask.

"What are you supposed to ask someone when they come into your room?"

Oh. "May I please you, Sir?"

Nick unbuckles his belt and opens his fly. He pulls out his dick and waits. Derek takes the hint and shuffles to the edge of the pallet on his knees. He takes Nick's cock into his mouth and it feels so natural, too natural. He hates that there's a small part of him, somewhere inside where he's taped together but not quite what he was, that missed having a dick in his hole, any hole.

"I ever catch you saying no again I'm not gonna pretend like it didn't happen. This is your one warning." Nick's hand slides down the side of Derek's face, resting at the hollow of his cheeks as he sucks him off.

Derek's own cock hangs heavy and hard between his thighs without even being touched and he feels a spike of pleasure race through him. Is he getting off on this? No. He doesn't want to get off on this.

"That disc in your arm is another upgrade, a pump. It's keeping a drug flowing through your veins."

Drugs. Derek pauses, pulling back and looking up at Nick.

"Did I say you could stop?"

"Sir..." Derek starts. Nick arches a brow. Then Derek leans in, takes him into his mouth again and continues to please him. Everything he's doing turns very mechanical with Nick's next words.

"It's a sexual enhancement drug. You're always gonna be hard, like any good pet should be."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

Derek is told it's going to be uncomfortable for a few days until he gets used to what's been done to him. That's an understatement. Any movement makes his anal passage tingle, as if it's whispering 'please put something in me'. His cock is hard and it never stops being hard. The first few days are painful and, at times, embarrassing. Nick has to reiterate that he isn't allowed to touch himself without permission several times before Derek learns to get through the worst of it by reciting things in his mind, usually song lyrics. Sometimes it's so painful all he can do it count; one, two, three, four... until the pain has passed.

As the days wear on though, the pain and discomfort start to recede into something that's still there, but just... is. It's manageable. Or, maybe he just grows accustomed to it in the same way he's growing accustomed to everything else. His restlessness never goes away, and Derek is keen enough to know that all that restlessness is surrounding a need in his groin and in his ass.

His 'upgrades' haven't stopped either. Derek sits in a chair for a long while as a man pulls his curls into braided cornrows, tied off at the nape of his neck. Eventually, when his hair is longer, the man says, the braids will be loose and free, something for others to grab onto. His beard is shaved away and that's something Derek is thankful for. He gets a manicure and pedicure to clean up his nails that had grown fairly long.

One day he's in a room where men rub his skin raw to exfoliate him from head to toe. Then they smooth cream over his skin that soothes whatever soreness there is and makes his dark skin glisten.

Almost every day he goes in for a treatment that takes a few hours with Doctor Young. He hates the endgame of what's happening in those few hours. During these sessions Derek is treated with laser hair removal from his neck down. At first there had been no effect. But as the days wear on, he has less and less hair on his chest, on his legs, in his most intimate areas.

Outside of here, in the life he used to have, Derek has always kept himself well-groomed, taken care of himself in the name of vanity. But this, killing all the hair on his body, it's overkill. It's almost emasculating in a way.

Now, when he looks in the mirror that lines the walls of his room from floor to ceiling, Derek still doesn't recognize the reflection, but he's getting used to that man. He doesn't hate him so much. He doesn't like him either. But that man is a survivor. That man will outlast all of this and come out on the other end of it. What and who he is when that happens remains to be seen.

Derek has counted the days since his upgrades began. At least, he's counted the number of times the lights go off to sleep and come back on to wake him up. It seems like they're normal length days and nights to him. And he counts eighteen days, two and a half weeks.

He hasn't been touched or fucked except in a very clinical way by his doctors in all of that time. Sometimes he sucks Nick off but that's it.

Two and a half weeks in and his door hisses open. Nick comes into his room and tells him to stand up. The two guards stand outside waiting for them. They're always there to transport Derek from one place to another. Derek assumes they're going to his treatments with Doctor Young. But they go down a different hallway and through double doors that open up into a room lined with more mirrors. In the room, there is workout equipment; weight benches and treadmills, elliptical machines, stationary bikes and gyms.

Some of this equipment is being used by naked men accompanied by guards. What isn't being used is being cleaned by naked men with collars around their necks and plugs in their asses. 

Nick comes around in front of Derek. "You've been very good lately, pet. Doctor Young has cleared you for workout. This is your reward." His gaze slips down over Derek and back up. "We're gonna start building those muscles back up."

When Derek just looks confused, frozen in place, Nick continues. "Anyone who has eyes and looks at you knows you used to like to do this stuff. What do you wanna do in here, pet? It's your choice."

His choice. That's more freedom than he's had in some time. So much so that he has no idea what to do with it and that leaves him just standing there like an idiot.

An image of Derek grabbing one of the heavy iron weights and ramming it into every guard's head until their skulls are caved in casts itself in vivid technicolor and 3D in his mind. He has to shake it away. He's too deep into the lion's den to do that. There are too many doors with locks. No windows.

"Derek." Nick snaps his fingers in front of Derek's face and Derek's mind falls back into the present. "Is this too much for you right now?"

"No sir." Derek says quickly, worried that whatever this is will be taken away.

Again, Derek just stands there, looking around at the other men, other slaves, other pets, their personal guards right there with them.

"Come here." Nick walks off and Derek automatically follows. He's led to a parallel bar and Nick gestures at it. "Those muscles in your arms. I bet you used to do pull ups. Do it."

For a moment Derek hesitates, then he goes over to the bar and reaches up. He did used to do pull ups. But it's been awhile, obviously. He bends his knees and his body remembers how to do them. He only does ten before he's tired. Then Nick takes him to the weights. He does squats with the weights, Nick adding more to the weights until he thinks it's enough. After that they go to the bench and Derek does reps with Nick standing point. Nick adds sit ups and push ups.

They cycle through these things five times until Derek is back at the weight bench doing reps again for the fifth time. Nick keeps a hand under the bar with the weights on it. Except for his nudity and his surroundings, it feels so normal, so ordinary. Derek gets lost in it, relaxes in it as his muscles remember how to work in this way.

"Doctor Young has cleared you for sex too." Nick says randomly, the words snapping whatever comfort Derek was feeling in half.

Derek feels a wave of excitement rush through him and is suddenly all too aware of his hard cock jutted up and twitching at his groin. He pushes the weight up again and Nick takes it, setting it in the rack.

"Do you want sex, pet?"

This is such a head game. Derek knows he isn't supposed to say no, but he wants so badly to say no. And the crux of it is that his body wants it so damn bad he can barely stand it. Will sex cure that tickle in his ass? Will he get to cum too? Oh god, he needs to cum. He doesn't want to want sex. He doesn't want to need it. Fuck fuck fuck.

"Derek." Nick's voice pulls him back into the here and now. "You keep leaving me, going into that head of yours and over-thinking things. Everything here is very simple. It's you that's complicating it. Stop complicating it."

Nick leans his forearms on the bar, leaning over Derek where he's still lying on the bench. "Let me tell you some very basic truths you need to hold onto. Your body is meant for sex. You've been altered to need sex. It isn't bad to need it. It isn't bad to want it."

Still, Derek stays silent. _I am not a whore. I am not a hole. I am not a whore. I am not a hole._

"You're a pet." Nick says, as if he'd been clued in to Derek's thoughts. "Pets are tailor made for different kinds of pleasure. You're being tailor made."

Nick reaches down, fingers grazing lightly over Derek's lightly stubbled jaw line. "Do you want sex, pet?" He asks again. "You know what you have to ask."

Everything here is not as simple as Nick says it is, not from Derek's perspective. He wants to fight it. He wants something to lash out at. He wants to undo what's been done to him. He wants everything he's been holding inside of him to explode in a blood bath where there's the kind of law and order where the good guys live and the bad guys die. Every line he's ever drawn is indistinct now. For instance, he's started to looking to Nick for his own safety. That's why he'd needed him through all of his 'upgrades'. That's why he'd looked to him. But the truth is that Nick is one of the bad guys, or he should be.

Does he want sex? Yes. Does he want to want sex? No. Does he need sex? God, yes. Please make that niggling discomfort stop. Does he want to need sex? No.

Blurred lines.

Derek's eyes are hard as steel, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight as he hears the words slip from his lips. It's his voice. He feels the reverberation of his vocal cords in his throat. But he sounds distant, far away, tone laced with barely contained anger. "May I please you sir?"

Nick is staring down at him and he smiles. "Bend over the bench."

"Here?" Derek glances around the room at the other men working out, the other guards. When he looks back at Nick, the man is looking at him expectantly. It takes a moment for Derek to realize he hadn't added 'sir' to the end of that statement. He quickly adds it and Nick looks appeased.

His guard nods and gestures for Derek to get up. "Here. Don't make me tell you again."

Bend over the bench, Nick had said. Derek sits up and gets to his knees where Nick points at the floor by the bench, bending his top half over it, his ass on display to the entire room. His skin feels hot with embarrassment. Nick has stepped away and here he is bent over and waiting. His hatred for the man in the reflection of the mirrors grows anew. It seems that every time he thinks he's made peace with who he's becoming, something else happens to upend whatever order he's found.

It's several minutes later that Nick is behind him again. Derek feels the other man kneel behind him. Two slicked up fingers push up inside of him, spreading the slick around. He hates that that's all it takes, that the minimal stretch and friction makes him groan with pleasure. Yes, he'd needed to be touched there. And it's more than anything he's ever felt, his entire body feels alive with it, relieved.

He could spill just from this.

"I want you to try not to cum until I give you permission." Again, as if Nick has an insight into Derek's mind that no one should have. "Understood?"

"Yes sir." The words are gasped out of him, a puff of needy air.

"Mind over matter, pet. Be strong." Nick keeps pushing those fingers in, adding a third. "Push back, fuck yourself on my fingers and show me you want it."

No. Derek doesn't want this. He needs it. He finds himself pushing back, wanton and debauched in his neediness, fucking himself on Nick's fingers. His mind is at war with his body and he thinks it might drive him crazy if he gives in to one side or another. One direction leads right back into the catacombs. The other is going to lead him deeper into this rabbit hole he's fallen into and he could lose himself completely.

Those fingers are pulled out and Derek fights hard not to whimper at their loss. His throat is tight to stop it. Then something longer, wider and harder is pushing into him. Nick thrusts quick and sharp and whatever whimper he'd stopped before comes out as a cry that may as well have been a 'Yes!". 

He hates how he sounds. He hates the way he still pushes back onto Nick's cock just as he had on his fingers but it's giving him everything he's needed since Doctor Young had done that procedure weeks ago. He hates that in the reflection of the mirrored walls he can see himself doing this and that everyone in the room has stopped to watch. The guards stand behind their charges kneeling on the floor, the other pets staring at him with dull, empty eyes.

Are Derek's eyes that empty? No. Nick had said they were on fire. Tamed, not broken. If he's not broken then why aren't all the pieces of him fitting back together the way they should?

The only sound in the room is the way Nick's skin slaps against Derek's as he fucks him and Derek's own rabid breaths and occasional unintelligible groans that he couldn't stop if he tried. He can feel it when Nick cums inside of him, a warm wet slick that Derek's ass instinctively milks. Nick's hands hold tight to Derek's hips until he's poured all he has into Derek. And Derek, on his knees, is gasping for air, trying so hard not to cum.

Nick wraps an arm around Derek's stomach and pulls him up against him. He whispers into Derek's ear. "Ask for it."

"May I please you, sir?" Derek automatically asks, the words second nature at this point.

"You just did. Wrong question."

How is he supposed to think right now? Derek tries to order his thoughts. Ask for it. What does he need? "I wanna cum." A pause. "Sir."

"I don't care what you want. Ask permission."

"I w-... May I cum, sir?"

"Ask nicely."

"Please. Please may I cum, sir?" The words blindly spill out of him and the sound that tears out of his throat when Nick touches his throbbing cock is obscene even to him. He bucks his hips forward, pushing into that fist and his entire world in this moment is this and nothing else. Everything since those first upgrades has built and culminated to Nick's hand stroking him now.

Nick's breath is warm against his ear from behind him. "Cum now, pet."

Like a good little pet, Derek does exactly as he's told.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

From then on sex is a regular part of Derek's schedule, either in the watching it or the participating in it. While the gym is a luxury that Derek doesn't ever want to give up, it's a luxury that comes with the additive of sex. Sometimes Nick is fucking Derek in the gym. Sometimes Doctor Young and/or his assistant use Derek after check-ups or treatments. Sometimes Derek is told to stop and kneel and watch another one of the men get fucked by their guard or a different doctor in any location at any time.

Derek thinks about sex. He dreams about it. He often tries to force his mind into other things, things to remind him that sex isn't all he is, but with the way he's always used and the way his body is reacting to his upgrades, his mind always wanders back into those thoughts of something filling his mouth or his ass, how good it feels, how, for the briefest of moments, it takes that restlessness away and makes him feel sated and calm even on the inside.

It's been weeks (at least) of this, including his routine in his own room. Derek no longer has any hair left on his body from the neck down. He's built back up a lot of his muscle. His hair has grown so that the ends of the braids are just meeting his shoulders. The incision on his arm is barely noticeable now, but if Derek presses on the skin there he can feel the disc, the pump, underneath. It's attached to his veins, Doctor Young has said, if he takes it out improperly, without actual surgery, he could die. Derek thinks that by leaving it in that parts of him are dying anyway.

He's quit thinking so much about his life from before. It's rare that it doesn't make him feel a deeply profound sadness, so sad that it could be considered a weakness when he can't afford to be weak. It's also rare that his thoughts don't end up with Sarah, what had happened to her, her lifeless body on the concrete floor of the basement. Did they have a funeral? Is his mom okay? Derek can't afford to let his mind go there right now. He just can't.

Right now, he's living day by day, sometimes minute by minute. He has a goal, another one, a small one. It's to get out of here. It's to get the next place, to the next thing, one step closer to freedom. Freedom isn't free though. It's costing him a lot to get there right now, physically, mentally, emotionally. Will the price ever be too high? He isn't sure.

There's one day when a group of six guards come for the man across the hallway. They flank him on all sides and Derek never sees him again. The cell is cleaned and sterilized. A fresh pallet put inside of it. Several days later another man is put in there, looking wild with an overgrown beard, a mess of hair and his body emaciated. Is that how Derek had looked? He's starting to forget that far back. The man glances briefly up at him across the way and then trains his eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched in defeat, and he never looks up again. As much as Derek watches and waits, the man never looks up.

Pets are tailor made, Derek remembers Nick telling him. What kind of tailor made is never looking up from the floor? What kind of tailor made is the man in the cell to the left across from him where the man is still kneeling there shaking, always shaking? What kind of tailor made is he, not broken, just tamed?

A handful of days later, Derek is lost in his own thoughts when he hears the glass door to his room hiss open. Derek looks up to see Nick entering the room. Standing outside of the glass are six other guards. Derek feels his insides roll with nerves for no good reason. He hasn't done anything to warrant his being in trouble, going back to the catacombs.

_I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm okay._

"Stand up. Follow me." Nick says.

Derek gets to his feet and follows Nick out into the hallway, his hands clasped behind his back. Two of the guards lead Nick, two stand at either side of Derek, two follow behind him. All of them are heavily armed.

He's led back through the hallways into another room with stark white walls, except one area of the wall is a charcoal gray color. Everything here is so white and bright, sterile. The shock of color is something different.

"Ah, there's our pet. Beautiful." Doctor Young beams at Derek when he's led into the room. The six guards stand at the door, waiting. Nick leads Derek further into the room.

"Stand over here on the red dot." The Doctor gestures to a red dot on the floor in front of the gray wall. Derek moves over there and stands on the red dot. Even this section of floor is gray. Holding his shoulders, Doctor Young positions Derek just where he wants him with his back to the gray wall.

Derek notices a camera on a tripod across the room. He flashes back to the basement with Carl and his breath catches in his throat. Then he shifts to the wooden coffin he'd been carried into the Gallery in.

Nick is suddenly at his side, a hand on his arm. "Deep breaths. You're fine, Derek. You're okay. Say it."

"I'm okay, Sir." Nothing is okay. But saying it does seem to help in the moment.

"That's a very good pet." Doctor Young pats a hand at Derek's cheek. Sometimes Derek has to work very hard not to bite back at the Doctor's condescension.

_I'm not a biter._

Nick moves away and Derek stands there, waiting as Doctor Young moves behind the camera. There's a blinding snap and flash and Derek lifts his chin a bit. Photos.

"That's right, pet." Doctor Young says. "Shoulders back, feet shoulder width apart, and chin up." The doctor grins as Derek glares at the camera. "Perfect. Look at those eyes. You're perfect, pet. Someone's going to pay so much money for you." More photos.

Derek is instructed to turn to his side, turn so his back is facing the camera, the other side. A picture is taken of him in each position. Photos are taken of him on his knees and then on all fours, both from every angle. Some photos are taken up close, pecs, genitals. While he's on his hands and knees he's made to reach back and spread his cheeks for a photo. Derek's skin flushes with heat.

Then Derek is moved to a smaller room, the smallest space he's been in since the cage in the basement, since his wooden coffin. The ceiling is tall, but the walls are closing in and Derek is surprised when he's hyperventilating in the tiny space to the point that Nick is in there with him, soothing him. Derek has never had a problem with small spaces before, not like this. It's another sign that he's been irrevocably changed.

When his breathing is even again, Nick assures him that he'll be right outside. The door is shut and Derek has to work not to panic again. The walls shift several times with several flashes. Then the door opens again and Nick is helping him out.

"Three-sixty degree photo done." Doctor Young says. "See, that wasn't so bad, pet. You panicked for nothing. Try not to let it happen again dear boy."

The doctor comes close with a tape measure and starts to measure every inch, every part, of Derek's body, calling out numbers that his assistant types onto an iPad. They measure his arms and legs, hips, chest and waist, biceps and thighs, length and width of his hard cock and around his neck. Everything.

When he's done, he pats Derek's cheek again. "You're such a good boy. The Mistress is going to be most pleased with you."

The Mistress.

Derek looks to Nick, trying to glean any information from him. Is he going to the Mistress now? Will Nick be going with him to the Mistress? If not, what will Derek do without Nick there with him? He hates that last question, but it's there in his mind anyway, as if he needs Nick in order to exist, in order to know what he's supposed to do.

As always, Nick is inscrutable. Nick never gives anything away, until he does. This is not one of those times when he chooses to clue Derek in.

Doctor Young comes to stand in front of him, a hand cupping either side of Derek's face. "We're going to miss you down here, pet. It's not very often that we get a wild beast like you. The Mistress is going to be enamored by you."

The Mistress. He's going to the Mistress.

 

* * *

 

Files, pens, papers, paperclips, a lamp, photo frames, a desk phone, it all flies across the room with a sweep of Aaron's arms in a fit of frustration and slams against the wall. He takes deep, steady breaths and puts both hands on his now empty desk, leaning over and closing his eyes.

They'd found Sarah's body a month ago. There had been a funeral. Fran and Desi Morgan are still under protection. But how much longer can Hotch keep justifying that to the Bureau now? He has no idea. They still have no trail to follow with Carl, and more importantly no trail to follow with Morgan.

Rossi and Reid run into Hotch's office, both of them looking from the mess on the floor to Aaron. They don't have to ask what this is about. For almost three months now they've been secretively working Derek's case on the side. Today they'd all gotten the memo that those who had been working the case in the open had deemed it unsolved and filed it away along with too many other cold cases.

"Well, do you feel better now?" Rossi breaks the silence.

"No."

"Guess I'll leave the stuff on my own desk alone then. I've never been much for clean-up."

Reid feels tears pool in his eyes. He's been holding them back all day since the memo had been sent out to their team. "So we've lost him."

"No." Hotch says again, shaking his head. "We're not letting him... it go. The case. Derek." He gravitates over to the mess he'd made and starts picking it up. Spencer is quick to help.

"Just what I wanted to hear." David adds with a nod. "We still have Marissa. We can keep trying to talk to her. Try to get her to speak more. She responded the most to you, Hotch."

"Maybe. I'm not sure that her mind isn't too broken. She's fractured to the point that we may have gotten all we're going to get out of her."

"Do you think they're doing that to Morgan?" Reid asks.

The idea that Derek could end up like Marissa is the stuff of nightmares to Hotch. He's thought about it numerous times. He's thought through several different scenarios Derek might be going through and many outcomes numerous times. Yes, there's a possibility that Morgan could end up like Marissa, but that isn't what he says aloud.

"No. Morgan's strong. We all saw the video of him in the basement. He's strong."

"Yeah but there's only so much a person can take, even Derek. He-"

"Reid." David's the one who speaks up. "We shouldn't speculate on what could happen. We need to stay focused on what we can do." He looks to Hotch. "If you think Marissa is a dead end, then we need to find another path to take."

The truth is that Hotch has no idea what to do next. He's frustrated. He's angry. He's worried. He's... scared. Derek's file had just officially been put on the back-burner according to the FBI. That means there are no leads, the trail went cold. The trail of their private investigation is cold too.

"We're not letting it go." Hotch reiterates, looking up to David who nods in agreement.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

The facility Derek is in must be massive. It had been a labyrinth of hallways to get from the catacombs to the labs. Then, now, Derek is escorted once again through another labyrinth, through many double doors that require a code and a thumb print to get through, up two flights of stairs, both of which require codes to get to.

He realizes now that he's made the right call, no matter how difficult that call has been. There's no way he could have gotten out of this place on his own. There is no grand escape plan that could have been successful up to this point, not yet. He has to be patient. Small steps. Small goals.

At the top of the second flight of stairs, the doors open into another hallway that leads to another set of double doors. The doors open into a hallway, again, but at the end of this hallway Derek sees signs of natural light. His heart beats wildly in his chest and he has to work very hard to remain cool on the surface. Is he going outside? No. Small steps. Don't think too big.

The hallway opens up into a massive garage with several expensive cars in it, lots of open space. At one end are garage doors with windows in the top of them. It's bright outside. Derek strains his neck to try to see, but the distance from where he is to those doors is fairly expansive. If this is the ground floor, then the catacombs had been three floors down. The labs two floors down.

He's led by his six guards and Nick to another set of doors and they enter what looks like an ordinary house, massive, but ordinary. The walls are lined with expensive artwork. The floors are a rich wood as he pads barefoot on them. He's led through several twists and turns until he winds up in a large foyer where the floors are the same black and white checkered tile that he remembers glimpsing through the cracked wood of the crate he'd been transported in.

One of the guards starts to speak quietly into a comm at the collar of his shirt. Derek doesn't really pay attention. He's too busy looking out of massive windows that flank either side of the front double doors. Trees, there are so many trees. There are mountains. There's a big fountain in the middle of a large cobblestone circular drive. There isn't another building that he can see, not from these windows. He hates that there's no other buildings. No buildings means no other people.

Nick grabs his chin and makes Derek look at him. "Do you want to go back to the catacombs, Derek?"

It isn't often that Nick uses Derek's name. Derek wonders if it'll get used more up here on this level. They've changed what he's called on each level, after all.

"No sir." He answers.

"Are you going to be perfect for your Mistress?"

"Yes sir."

"Things here are very simple, Derek." Nick continues. "It isn't about what you think or what you feel or what you want. It's about what your Mistress thinks, feels and wants. You do what pleases her and you won't have to go back to the catacombs. Don't overthink it. Don't over-complicate it. Be present with her. Don't get lost up here." He taps the side of Derek's head. "Turn those parts of your mind off."

Derek has already turned so many parts of his mind off. He's worried that if he turns off much more, he won't be himself anymore. He doesn't say this though.

"When you're allowed in you'll kneel on the floor. Don't stand up without permission. You'll ask if you can please her. From then on, you follow instruction to the letter. You screw this up, I can't help you."

There are so many questions Derek wants to ask. His lips part as if to speak, but he stops himself.

Nick helps him. "Any questions? Ask them now."

So many questions. Derek tries to put them in order of importance just in case there isn't time. He's surprised with what he asks first.

"Will you be staying with me up here, Sir?" He wonders how many times Nick has been asked that by how many different pets.

Nick briefly grins. "It's up to the Mistress if I'll see you again and how often."

"What's gonna happen to me, sir?"

"That's up to your Mistress. You're hers for now, one of her pieces of art, until she decides that it's time for you to move on."

A piece of art? "And when she decides it's time for me to move on, sir?"

"You'll be sold."

Derek swallows hard, pushing back the word 'no' that wants to tear out of him. No is a bad word. He imagines himself slamming into one of these guards, getting his gun, gunning down everyone that tries to stop him from leaving. His mind trips over an image of Nick falling lifeless to the floor. Nick is a complicated thing in his mind. Half of him wants to snap his neck. The other half wants Nick to help him through this, wants Nick to fuck him.

"She's ready." One of the guards says.

"It's time." Nick says. "Derek. I don't want you to go back to the catacombs either. Be the wild thing you are, but behave. Tamed, not broken. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Nerves run rampant inside of him, whether it's from the unknown of what's coming or the fact that Nick just seemed to give a damn about him outside of the strict lines of his job here, Derek doesn't know.

He's led by armed guard to another set of double doors. Inside is a large room with white and gold walls. There's several sitting areas, plush arm chairs, couches and lounges. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. A woman with long dark hair and olive skin stands over by one of the tall windows looking outside. She has a wine glass in her hand. She wears a lilac blouse and a pencil skirt that falls just past her knees along with tall heels.

When his procession stops, Derek kneels on the floor. The armed guards and Nick step back to stand by the door. "May I please you, Mistress?" Derek waits, hands clasped behind his back. For several minutes nothing happens. She's making him wait. Her time schedule, not his.

Finally, the woman turns back to cast heavy kol-lined amber eyes at him. Derek stares back at her, brow furrowed. He doesn't look away from her as she steps over to him. She seems amused by this and walks a circle around him so that his gaze has to leave her briefly only to meet up with her again when she makes it to his other side.

She hums and moves to a cushioned ottoman across the expansive room directly in front of him where she sits down and continues to look at him. Derek looks back, trying to figure out what game is being played right now.

Setting her wine glass to a nearby table, she then slides her hands up her thighs, lifting her skirt higher and higher to reveal lacy thigh-highs and garters. There are no panties though, her sex on full display as she spreads her legs.

"It has been awhile since we have allowed you to see one of these." She says, her tone mocking.

Derek had noticed that his being a 'tailor made pet' had only included men. Now he knows that that was done on purpose. He can't understand why. Maybe to force an otherwise straight man to get over any hang-ups about same sex relations. But her tone makes his eyes turn to ice and he glares at her, as if daring her to make fun of him again even though he knows he can't do anything about it.

"Surely you remember what to do with it." The Mistress says, one carefully manicured brow arching high. "Come here, Derek."

There's a second where Derek almost stands to walk. Then he remembers Nick's instructions. He isn't to stand without permission. He's to follow instruction to the letter. He squares his jaw, the muscles flexing to bite back any retort, to keep himself from messing this up. He pushes any pride to the back-burner in his mind and shifts forward to crawl to her on hands and knees.

_It's not about what I want, think or feel. Not yet. My time will come._

"Look at how pretty you are." The Mistress coos as Derek gets close. "Sculpted like a marble statue." Derek clasps his hands back behind his back and leans in close to the apex of her thighs before looking up to her just to make sure he's doing the right thing. Her fingers glide along his lightly stubbled jaw line. "And those eyes, so wild and dangerous. Lovely."

Another moment as she looks at him, then she nods. "Yes, you may please me, Derek."

Again, the use of his name strikes him. He can understand how it's psychological. Tearing the old Derek down and building him back up into a new Derek. He leans in and licks at her pussy, tongue toying at her clit before pushing inside of her, back out at her clit, sucking, pushing inside. Yes, he remembers what to do with it. Although now he isn't allowed to use his hands, not without permission.

"Ahh yes, my sweet new pet. You remember what to do." She rests one hand behind her on the ottoman and the other hand smooths over Derek's braids, his face, his shoulders as she starts rocking forward in against his mouth. Derek pushes his tongue deeper, mouth open wide. No teeth, he's not a biter. When she reaches orgasm, she hums with pleasure, her thighs closing to squeeze against either side of his face. She lets him continue until a hand presses to his brow to tilt his head back a bit. Her thighs keeps him locked in place, his lips inches from her pussy still wet with his own saliva. Derek can feel the lace of her stockings at her thighs scratch against his jaw.

He looks up to her.

"Yes, I think I will keep you for awhile." She says. "You will be in my harem until I am ready to sell you. I am most pleased with how you have turned out... but you still have much to learn."

She opens her legs again, the hand pressed to Derek's brow pushing him back away from her. The Mistress stands and smooths her skirt back down. Then she picks up her wine glass and takes a sip.

"I will send you into the harem with my favored pet, Jai. You are to submit to everyone, even other pets. Follow Jai's instruction. He will show you what to do."

A side door opens and Derek looks over to see a man come in. He's naked. He has a collar around his neck and he carries a box with him. The man has dark skin like Derek's. His hair is long and braided, pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

The Mistress beckons him forward. Jai comes close and kneels before her, eyes on the floor. "May I please you, Mistress?" The man says, his African accent thick.

"This new pet has just pleased me greatly, Jai. Thank you for asking." She pets over the top of his head like he's an animal. "The box." Jai offers the box up to her and opens the lid.

She takes what's inside and brings it over to Derek, a black collar like Jai's. She leans down to place it around his neck. "Who owns you now, Derek?"

"You, Mistress." Derek says the words through clenched teeth. In his mind he's thinking that nobody owns him, nobody ever will. He isn't a thing to be owned.

"Say the entire sentence."

Derek has to force the words out again. "You own me, Mistress."

"That's a good pet." She says. "You may stand now and go with Jai."

Getting to his feet, Derek looks over to Nick, out of the windows to the trees and mountains, back to Nick. He wants Nick to come with him. Nick stares straight ahead, never looking fully at Derek. Jai starts to walk off and Derek has to follow.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

Derek follows behind Jai and behind the both of them are two armed guards. From six (seven including Nick) to two, Derek can't help but hope that that means they're letting their guard down with him. Neither one of the guards behind them are Nick. Derek wishes one of them were Nick. Who is going to tell him what he needs to do to survive? That question ruffles Derek's proverbial feathers. He doesn't need anyone to tell him what to do. He can figure it out. He's smart. He doesn't belong to anyone. No one owns him. He doesn't need anyone, not even Nick. Nick, who's one of the bad guys, he reminds himself for the umpteenth time.

Derek doesn't like those blurred lines. They've been confusing him lately.

He doesn't need Nick. Then why does he feel so adrift moving further and further away from his personal guard through this massive house? Why has worrying about being away from Nick made him not pay any attention to where he's going when he needs to learn the layout of this place?

Jai pushes open some doors and they enter a large room with blood red walls and plush white carpet. The guards stay outside. There are ottomans and chaise lounges around the edges of the walls. The art on the walls is all pornographic in nature and framed in gold, nudity as far as the eye can see, seductive poses, pictures caught mid sex. An entire end of the room has a large cushioned pallet that spreads from wall to wall. The pallet is covered with pillows of every size and color. No blankets.

About a dozen naked people with collars around their necks lounge about in different areas, men and women. They all turn to look at him when he walks in.

"New pet." Jai says to the group. "The Mistress has chosen to keep him for herself for awhile. He is called Derek."

Judging by the way the group looks at him, Derek is surprised to assume that the Mistress doesn't often keep new pets. He wants to ask questions but he has no idea whether he's supposed to speak here or not. He's been told to submit, even to the other pets. Does that mean he should get to his knees and ask if he can please them?

"Come with me, Derek."

Jai speaks up just before Derek is about to take action and get to his knees. Derek follows Jai through the room. There are two doors to the side. Or perhaps he should say door frames, openings to other spaces. There are no actual doors on them. Jai stops at one door. Inside are neat racks of clothes and tall drawers along the wall. There are tall mirrors with tables and seats in front of them. The room makes Derek think of backstage at one of Penelope's community plays she likes to do.

"This is the dressing room for when such things are required." Jai says simply. Then he moves to the other door. "These are the showers and bathrooms."

A peek into this area shows no doors or walls anywhere. There are multiple shower heads on the wall, many drains in the floor, several wands and commodes.

"Come."

Jai leads Derek back into the room. They pick an area in the corner away from the other pets. Jai settles back against some pillows and pats the area on the pallet beside him. Derek kneels there, hands automatically clasping behind his back. Jai smiles up at him. It's a comfortable smile, as if he has no problem with any of this. Derek has too many problems to list with everything about this.

"It is not often the Mistress chooses to keep a pet in her harem." The other man says. "Usually they are immediately sent to the gallery to be sold. The others in here, we have all been here for no less than eight months, some of us for years."

Jai merely glances at Derek's expression before voicing the question on Derek's mind. "You want to ask how long I have been here. Eight years, I think." He reaches out to rest a hand on Derek's knee. Jai's skin tone is even darker than Derek's. "You should consider yourself special for having been chosen. To be in the mistress's private art collection is a great honor."

Derek smirks and shakes his head before he can think about it. Lucky? A great honor? The look on Jai's face makes him sober up immediately. He doesn't want to be sent back to the catacombs. The Mistress's favored pet looks thoroughly unimpressed by his lack of respect where the Mistress's chosen are concerned.

"There are some pets in here who are allowed to get on the furniture. There are some who are more dominant than the others. You are not one of them. You will always kneel on the floor or kneel and lay in this pallet. We all share this pallet. Every morning you are to get up, shower, use the wand and then prepare yourself for use. I will show you how tomorrow morning. You may be used. You may not. But you will always be ready should your name be called."

Jai rolls to his side, hand sliding up Derek's thigh to his crotch. "You will let anyone touch you at any time. As the Mistress said, you are to submit to us all." He fondles Derek's sac. "You may speak if you wish."

Derek tries so hard not to react to being touched so casually, as if it's no big deal. Maybe because of the casualness of it, it's an even bigger deal. There's no denying how good Jai's hand feels on his hard and ready cock when it shifts up to touch him there. His ass seems to come to life too, that niggling want that's always there suddenly making itself known. Fucking upgrades.

He's allowed to talk, but he hasn't said a word, all of his energy going to a lack of reaction. Derek makes himself think of what he needs to say.

"How many are in the Mistress's harem, Sir?" He asks.

"Thirteen. With you, fourteen. Men, women, some who are a little of both."

The latter gets Derek's attention. "Did they come here a little of both or is it something that was done to them?"

Jai doesn't answer and Derek belatedly remembers to say 'sir' at the end. Only then does Jai speak again.

"It is what they are now and that is what counts." Jai answers. "Just as you are no longer what you were before."

Derek refuses to accept that he's no longer who he was. But the truth of it hurts. He is not the man who was brought here. He's... something different, something he doesn't yet understand, something he can't accept. He hates that reflection in the mirror that he doesn't recognize.

"Tell me about the training you've had so far." Jai prompts.

"In the catacombs? I'm not sure I'd call that training, Sir."

"Everything is training. Even now." Jai glances down. "Spread your knees wider. And then tell me about your training."

There's a second of hesitation that Derek tries to play off as an uncomfortable shift before he finally spreads his knees wider apart. He tells Jai about the catacombs, the men down there, what had happened to him there, recounting his own rape, until his mind quit letting himself call it rape. He tells Jai about the labs where he was prepped for being a pet, about Nick his guard. He speaks about it all with the same sort of detachment as he'd given Rossi his statement about Carl Buford's weekend rape in his own bedroom.

He misses his bedroom. He misses any semblance of privacy. He misses his mind and body working the way he knows they used to work. He stubbornly thinks he'll get himself back again someday, once he has a minute outside of this place. Deep down he knows he'll never be the same man he was.

"Lie down here." Jai instructs when there seems to be a lull in Derek's recount.

Derek knows he just did that thing that Nick hates, that thing where he gets lost in his mind. He can hear Nick's straightforward voice telling him not to do it, to be present. Derek doesn't want to be present right now.

He lies down on his side beside Jai. The pallet is comfortable, one of the many pillows cradling his head even as Derek folds one arm up underneath the pillow.

Jai's hand doesn't stop working slowly over his cock. "Your body is no longer your own. It is for others to touch. It is for others to look at. It is for others to use. Your pleasure is not important. It should please you to bring pleasure to others. Your goal, your purpose in life, is to bring pleasure to others." A few more strokes. "You do not have permission to cum."

Drawing a deep breath, Derek slowly exhales and tries to get lost in his mind to keep from coming.

"No." Jai says. "The Mistress's harem is not allowed to hide. You must be present."

 _Don't overthink it. Don't over-complicate it. Be present. Don't get lost up here._ Nick had said these things. Derek hears the words again in his mind.

The words pull Derek back into the now, to where Jai's hand feels so good on him, the way he squeezes, touches, pulls and fondles him. But he's not allowed to cum?

"I touch you now. How would you bring others pleasure as I touch you?" Jai asks.

"You want me to use my mouth on someone, Sir?" It seems the most obvious answer. He was a hole, after all. And even as a pet his mouth and his ass are used to bring pleasure.

"No. Your entire self is meant to give pleasure. We are not the only ones in this room." The other pets, the other members of the Mistress's harem. "You lie here," Jai continues, his accent thick so that Derek has to pay close attention to understand every word. "And you fight the pleasure I give you. You fight it and you have no care for the pleasure you might give the others. You must learn that it is always about the pleasure you give, not the pleasure you take. Now how would you bring them pleasure while I touch you like this?"

Derek understands what Jai is saying. He wants Derek to quit fighting it. But Derek isn't sure he can quit fighting it. Shutting his mind off and just letting things happen to him is one thing. Actively participating and enjoying and seeking out ways to bring pleasure to others, to strangers, is another thing.

"The Mistress is pleased with your physical appearance or she would not have kept you." Jai says. "Your body can bring visual pleasure. You must learn to use it in that way. Each time you are touched in this way, it is a lover's caress, you should respond to it in such a way. Push into my touch."

Only Jai's hand isn't touching his dick anymore. Jai's hand slides over his side to the curve of his ass where he presses to roll Derek over to lie on his belly. Jai's hand caresses Derek's buttocks and it takes Derek a moment to shift his body, to push his hips up into that touch.

"Respond to every touch. Feel it. Let yourself feel it. Show the one giving it that you want it. Put on a show for anyone else watching."

Derek follows the line of Jai's touch up his body to his shoulders, shifting a little depending on where the touch lands. "And if I don't want it?" His question is muffled into the pillow, but Jai seems to understand.

"No one cares what you want." For what seems like hours, Jai touches every inch of Derek's body inside and out. Derek tries to make himself react to every touch and isn't always successful. Jai's words echo in his mind every time he finds himself trying to hide in his own thoughts.

_No one cares what you want._


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

Twice during his first night in the harem, a man comes in and calls names and pets are taken out of the room. The first group comes back. The second group doesn't. Yet. When the lights dim for nighttime, all of the remaining pets pile on the pallet together. Derek finds himself in the middle of a mass of strange bodies. If he wasn't already so exhausted, he might not have been able to sleep. He eventually gets there though, even with the tangle of strange arms and legs, strange hands on his body. He's warm. He's comfortable. He sleeps.

When morning comes, he wakes to the dimmed lights slowly turning bright. Bodies start to pull away from him and Derek feels cool air on his skin where they had once been. The pets are heading into the showers, the sound of water spray already on.

Derek pushes to his feet, clasps his hands behind his back and moves to the opening to the bathrooms. The pets stand under shower spray, the room steaming with the warm temperature of the water. It beckons to him, but he isn't sure what, exactly, to do. Nick would have told him what to do. Where is Jai?

He hates that he needs to be told what to do. Derek squares his shoulders and is just about to go into the bathroom by himself when a pale hand rests on his arm. A tiny woman with hair so blonde it's almost white stands next to him. "Morning showers should be simple, yes?"

Again, another thick accent, this one he can't place. He'd read that the Art Gallery is an international operation, but never has that been more apparent than in here with pets of every color and nationality.

"Forgive. I am Lily." She introduces herself. English is not her first language, it seems. "You are Derek, yes?"

Derek nods. "Yes, madam."

"You come with me." Lily takes his hand in hers and leads him to a shower head being used by a woman, no, by a man. The pet has both a very hard dick and very large breasts. He washes his long hair and casts a smile at Derek.

"Dare, this is Derek." Lily introduces him.

"The new pet." An American accent, complete with a Southern drawl. Derek's stunned look must amuse Dare because the man smirks and arches a brow. "Like what you see?"

Quickly, Derek looks away. He hadn't even realized he'd been staring.

Dare reaches a hand out to take Derek's other hand and pull him closer under the shower spray. Without any provocation, Lily and Dare start to wash Derek, each of them with a sponge, leaving soapy floral scented suds sliding down his body. Derek is frozen in place, letting them do what they want, trying to imagine how it would feel to be Dare, to have that done to him, what psychological reconditioning the man must have underwent that made him accept it as he seems to do

Jai is there to his side, watching the others bathe him. "Whose pleasure, Derek?"

Not his. No one cares what Derek wants. It's about others' pleasure. Derek takes a deep breath, slow exhale. Then he starts to think about what would please Jai, what would please Dare and Lily. He lifts his arms up, hands sliding over his own skin at his wrists and forearms so that Dare can wash under his arms and down his sides. Lily presses the sponge to Derek's ass and Derek presses back against it. A glance to Jai finds the man smiling.

Derek feels Dare's hand at his hip and the man grinds their cocks together, his breasts cushioned against Derek's chest. "Maybe we can play later, huh?" Dare asks.

The word 'no' is in the back of Derek's throat. He swallows it down. No is a bad word. "Yes, sir."

"Bend, Derek." Lily instructs.

Dare steps back, holding Derek by one shoulder as he pushes him to bend over at the waist. Dare holds on to both of Derek's shoulders. "Lick it."

Inches away from Derek's face is Dare's straining cock. He presses his lips together, thinks the word 'no', then slides his tongue over the top of Dare's length. He feels cool metal press to his ass as Lily pushes the wand in. Water starts to fill his bowls. Derek continues to lick at Dare's cock even as the wand is pulled out and he holds the water in. When he's put over the large hole drain in the floor and told to release, Derek looks down at the rest of the massive shower area to see other pets doing the same.

Two more times of licking Dare's cock, Lily pushing the wand in and filling him up, Jai watching the entire thing, then they wash over Derek again with the soapy sponges. Derek smells like flowers.

Dare brushes a kiss to the corner of Derek's lips. Lily squeezes his hand in hers and smiles at him, then both are gone to another area of the room.

"Come." Jai leads him across the room to a mirrored wall with sinks in front of them. On top of the sinks are cups of toothbrushes and toothpaste. It's been so long since Derek has seen either of these things that he hesitates until Jai instructs him to brush his teeth. It doesn't matter which brush he uses. The pets all share toothbrushes. Derek brushes his teeth, savoring the minty taste in his mouth, the cleanliness.

It's such a small thing but right now, it's huge to him.

He gets lost in his reflection, looking at the stranger in the mirror as he brushes his teeth. When he rinses the toothbrush, he whispers. "We're okay." To the reflection.

"We?" Jai asks, looking knowingly between the mirror and Derek, as if he'd just discovered that something he suspected is true.

Derek hasn't really thought about the way he says 'we' when he speaks to the man in the mirror. But now that it's been pointed out, it worries him. He's been thinking of that reflection as another person. It's a sign of fractures in his mind, a dangerous coping mechanism that could lead him down a path that can never be undone. How many times has he worked a case with an unsub who has a fractured mind, different personalities? Derek doesn't want to become that.

"I." He says to Jai. "I'm okay." He doesn't look at his reflection when he says it though. That man isn't him. It is him. But it isn't. "Stop." He whispers to himself and shakes his head.

Jai reaches a hand up and presses a hand gently to Derek's cheek. "Be present." He reminds him. "Come with me."

Derek follows Jai out of the bathroom. He's taken to the dressing room where pets sit at tables drying and styling their hair, some of them putting on make-up. Jai leads Derek to a set of drawers. On top of it is many bottles of lube. Jai hands one of the bottles to Derek.

"You'll want to slick the inside of your hole."

He can't help the way he looks back around the room at the other pets. Derek can't believe he has to touch himself here in front of them. But he grudgingly takes the bottle, squirts a little on his fingertips, then reaches back to spread some around his hole and then push his fingers in.

He's surprised to find that touching himself there feels so good in thanks to Doctor Young's experimental injections. Of course, it's always felt good to be touched back there since then. But he's never been allowed to touch himself like this. It's amazing. He pushes his fingers further in in the name of slicking himself up, but really he just wants to keep feeling this, to scratch that itch that always needs scratching back there.

"Stop." Jai says, then waits for Derek to pull his fingers out of himself before he gives him a gold plug. "Put that inside of yourself."

Derek hesitates. Another pet comes over to the dresser, picks up a tube of lubricant and starts doing to himself the same thing Derek had just done. When Derek looks to Jai again, he sees that the pet is going to be upset if he has to tell Derek again. So he reaches back to push the plug up inside of himself. It takes a bit, the cone shape of the plug wanting to slide right back out, but when that tight ring of muscles clamps around it to hold it in place, it's done. It feels strange.

Jai places a hand on Derek's arm and moves him to a pallet he hasn't noticed before. Derek doesn't have to be told to kneel and he does so. Walking with the plug in his ass is it's own kind of strangeness. In front of the pallet is one of the large mirrors. Other pets are sitting in chairs at mirrors. Derek isn't allowed on the furniture.

Once again, Derek finds himself staring at his own reflection. He wants to look away from that man. He can't.

"Something simple for you. You'll put black kol around your eyes. Mascara. Gloss on your lips."

"Makeup?" Derek says before he thinks about it. His expression says 'no way' before he contorts it back into something blank and emotionless.

Jai smiles at him. "Enhancements." He corrects. "Let me show you how I do it."

Beside him, Jai leans in close to the mirror and starts to apply some eyeliner to one eye. He hands it over to Derek and after a brief moment where Derek tells himself that no is a bad word, he leans in and tries to mimic what Jai had just done. The eyeliner is a mess and Jai takes a cloth with some chemical in it to clean away makeup to Derek's eye.

It takes several tries until Derek finally figures out how to make it look good. Both eyes are lined with dark, thick eyeliner. Then mascara, which is strangely easier than the eyeliner. Then Jai gives him a tub of gloss. Only after Derek has spread some on his lips with his fingertips does he realize the gloss has some glittering shimmer to it.

Now he really doesn't recognize the man in the mirror. It's hard for Derek to tell whether he's a survivor or a slave, doing everything he's told to do like a good little pet.

 

* * *

It's later in the afternoon that the same man comes into the room to call names. Derek's name is called. In fact, every name is called. Pets are allowed into the dressing room to do touch-ups. Jai makes sure Derek re-applies his mascara and lip gloss. Then the pets file out in a line, Derek at the front behind Jai.

They're led to a grand dinning hall with a long mahogany table in the middle of the room, high backed wooden chairs flanking every side of it. Men and women with collars on and plugs in their asses are setting the table, each place setting perfection, the center pieces immaculate.

Jai leans in close to Derek's ear. "It looks like a dinner party. You will be put in one of the frames on the wall for the Mistress and her guests' viewing pleasure."

Derek notices then that large golden frames line the walls. Each of the frames surrounds deep shadow boxes, shadow boxes of which hold the Mistress's personal art collection, the pets. He swallows hard. He's going to be put in one of those? On display for a dinner party of strangers?

He shakes his head, then notices Jai looking at him. No is a bad word. Is shaking his head like a no? Will Jai tell the Mistress? All of these pets seem to be brainwashed. As he looks them over right now, they all seem calm and at peace, maybe even excited, about what's about to happen.

Meanwhile, Derek's entire body is tense. His brow creased with distaste. NO! He wants to scream it. He wants to shake these people and get them to wake up and see how wrong this is. He wants to run. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, glancing back at the doors they came through. There are guards at the door. There is no running.

No escape. There's no escape.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

A man who may as well have been a party planner for how he begins selecting the pets and arranging them in the picture frames takes over then. When he stops in front of Derek, he glances to Jai for clarification.

"He is a new pet. Submissive." Jai says.

"His eyes don't say submissive." The party planner says in the amused sort of way that a person might say a person isn't a true blond.

"That is how the Mistress wants him." Jai looks to Derek and back to the planner. "He does not look submissive, but he is."

_I submit to no one_ , Derek thinks. But the words don't ring true to his actions as of late. His actions say he'd do anything if he could just save his sister's life, get the metal out of his mouth, stand up, cure that tickle in his ass that needs to be touched, the list goes on. Right now he's just trying not to be sent back into the catacombs, to stay where there are windows he can see out of on occasion, to stay on the level of this enormous place where there's the possibility of an eventual escape route.

"Over here then, we'll turn the new pet into the barely contained beast."

"Follow him. Do as the artist says." Jai instructs.

The artist snaps his fingers and a makeup artist appears, brushing black shadow around his eyes with the instruction to make Derek's eyes even more dramatic. She adds some dark shadows to his cheek bones as well. Then Derek is instructed to get up into the shadowboxed frame. He does so and a man and woman who work for the planner get up in the box with him. They reveal some iron chains from the corners of the shadow box. Derek's wrists are chained in the top corners of the box above his head. His legs are spread wide and iron cuffs are snapped around his ankles to keep them spread.

Orders are barked to his employees and something is tossed up to them. The woman dips between Derek's legs and pulls hard on his sac, snapping a black cuff around the base to keep his sac uncomfortably pulled down away from his body. Next, something metal is tossed up.

Derek flashes back to the brute entering the cell Derek had been kept in in the catacombs, tossing something metal to another brute and then sticking a knife in his mouth to open it so they could put the contraption in his mouth to hold it open and keep him from biting.

"I... I won't bite." Derek says quickly with a shake of his head. He barely keeps himself from actually saying the word no, but the implication is there. "I won't bite."

"It's not for your mouth, pet." The man in the framed shadowbox says, clipping something on the end of Derek's cock. There's a weight on the end of it, dangling from a chain, that keeps his cock jutted out and pointed at the floor.

The two people get down from his shadowbox and look up. One of them uses a camera to take several photos of Derek. The planner seems pleased with his work and moves on.

Derek looks up and around the room, watching as each one of the Mistress's harem is placed in a box, displayed in some way. In some of the frames there are two pets put together in provocative positions. Jai is directly across from him, on his knees, hands behind him on the floor so that his groin is pushed out on display. Lucy in a corner box, lying back with her legs spread and a dildo shoved into her. Derek sees Dare in a box over by the door, clothed in panties that don't quite cover his cock. He's a man who built like a brick door, broad and muscled, but he kneels in pink panties and both of his strong hands grab his breasts and push them together. His nipples are clamped, something sparkling dangling from the clamps.

And then they wait.

It takes some time before the Mistress enters the room. All of the pets in the picture frames seem to strain at their poses, turning everything up so it's more intense, as if they need or want to earn her favor. The Mistress walks around the room, wearing a slinky black dress that's backless and falls casually to the floor. She stops at each frame to give each pet her approval. They all seem to soak it up like water soaks up a sponge. They seem to live for a positive word from her.

When she comes to him, she seems to consider Derek for a long time. Derek doesn't look away. In fact, his expression challenges her, knowing that she'll look away before he does. Her lips twist into a wry grin and she looks to the side before looking back at him.

"Perfection, my wild lion." She tells him. "So many of my guests tonight will covet you. Not broken, just tamed. Tamed, just barely." She pauses, looking over him again, gaze lingering at his groin with the weighted chain and his distended sac. "Perfection."

She moves on and Derek feels a pressure he hadn't realized was there ease away from him.

The more they wait, the more uncomfortable Derek feels. The blood drains from his hands and arms. The way his legs are spread starts to strain on his thighs. Then there's the way his sac is stretched and the weight on his cock pulls it down, making gravity his invisible enemy.

When guests start to arrive, he feels so damn embarrassed. He stares across the room at Jai as waiters serve guests wine and champagne from trays. There's a bar in the corner of the room that guests can get mixed drinks from. It's a black tie affair, the people in tuxedoes and formals. There's conversation and laughter, the tinkling of glasses and music playing from speakers in the ceiling.

Dinner is served, a five course meal that seems to go on forever. During the meal, Derek tries to memorize faces and names, keep his mind sharp and outside of his discomfort. He occasionally catches one of the guests staring at him and he glares back. They always grin and look away. Good. Derek wants them to look away.

When dinner is over, drinks are served again. Guests shift their chairs into different groups and talk. Some walk around the room looking at the 'artwork'. A man stands before him, just looking at him for awhile. Derek looks back, trying to make him look away first. He doesn't. The man is tall and slim, dark hair, tanned skin and dark eyes.

Another man comes to stand next to him, just a hair shorter, sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. "I would find you here, wouldn't I?"

"You're here too." The first man says, still staring at Derek.

The second man shrugs and looks up admiringly to Derek. "For different reasons."

"Amazing, he pings both of us for different reasons." The first man says.

"Admiring my wild beast?" The Mistress squeezes her way in between both men and looks up to Derek, leaning left and then right as each man kisses at her cheek. "He's my newest pet."

"I suppose that means he isn't for sale." Man #1 prompts.

The Mistress looks up to Derek, considering. Derek looks back at her, curious about the answer to that as well. "I am not emotionally attached to him yet. For the right price to the right person I could part with him. You and I have been friends for some time."

Man #2 looks to the first man. "Are you considering it?"

"Are you?" The first man asks the other.

For a moment they look at each other, then both turn back to eye Derek. Finally, the second man, the older one with the sandy blond hair and blue eyes, shrugs. "I've never been able to say no to you. If you want him, he's yours, if the Mistress is willing to part with him."

The first man, the one with the dark eyes, tosses his head back and laughs. His gaze never leaves Derek for awhile. The Mistress is still there, looking at Derek. The second man looks Derek over. Derek wants to spit in their faces and tell them to go to hell, that he can't be sold and bought. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying any of these things.

"Look at those eyes, is he really that wild?" The first man says.

"Only on the surface." The Mistress answers, taking a sip of the wine in her glass. "He has been tamed, mostly. He might need some tweaking to suit your needs but he will do as he is told." She arches a brow at Derek. "Is that not right, pet?"

Derek's jaw flexes, biting back a retort that would get him in trouble before he answers. "Yes, Mistress." If he can get out of this place, the chances of his getting free rise significantly. Surely either of these men don't have the man-power and resources behind the Art Gallery.

Even if he could get his hands on a phone. He could call Hotch and...

Too big. He's thinking too big. Small steps. Get out of this house and away from the catacombs.

"How much?" The first man asks, seemingly pleased by Derek's answer. His dark eyes seem to spark with want.

"Hmmm... ten million." The Mistress says. Again the dark-eyed man chuckles. "What? Do you not think he is worth it? He has been carefully crafted. It takes a lot of work to tame a man such as him without breaking him, to push him just enough into submission without making his eyes fall to the floor and without taking the wildness out of him."

"She's not wrong." Blue-eyed man says.

"And you would know." Dark-eyed man says to the other man. "You've trained hundreds of slaves. I've only trained one before. I've only kept one."

"It's been years. It's time for you to find another companion."

"I have to agree with your brother." The Mistress says. "Kane's death was a shame. You have been alone too long." She looks up to Derek again. "Nine million."

The dark-eyed man stares at Derek a few moments more. "I would pay ten."

Ten million? For him? All Derek can think is that he's getting further away from the catacombs, away from the physicians in the labs, away from the Mistress and her mocking, away from these pets who only live to serve her.

"I had not planned to lose him so quickly. But he will be shipped to you in a week if the money is in my account in the next twenty-four hours." The Mistress says.

Is he going to be put in another box? The idea of being in another tight space makes Derek's stomach roll end over end. His insides are all twisted up over this entire conversation had in front of him and he's trying so damn hard to stay steady and strong on the surface.

"You'll have the money." The dark-eyed man says.

As the trio moves on, Derek tries to consider where he is and where he's going for a moment. There's no time for that though, because Dare is made to get out of his cubby and get up on the table where people had just eaten. Guests reach out to touch the man, his silk covered cock, his breasts. One of the female slaves, one who is always made to kneel on the floor like Derek is, is brought to the table too. Dare and the female pet have sex for the dinner guests. Derek can't look away for most of it.

Sometimes though, party goers stand in front of him and look up at him. Derek looks away from the display before him to look back at them. They laugh and joke about how a pet isn't usually supposed to look back at them, and not in the 'tenor' that Derek does.

When the last of the guests leave, Derek's arms are unchained and the blood starts to flow back into them. The Mistress stops the artists assistants before they can unchain his ankles. Derek is told to sit and lie back on the small cubby space. He does so and he can't close his legs. The Mistress uses a dining chair to step up into the cubby with him. She straddles him and then dips down, lifting the slinky silk of her dress. Once again, lace thigh-highs. Once again, no panties.

She unclips the weighted chain from Derek's cock, removing the cuff from his sac, and then, with no preamble, sits on his hard length, enveloping him with her tight warmth. She hums with pleasure and starts to ride him.

"Jai has said he's spoken with you about whose pleasure matters, and whose doesn't." She says. "Who should you be pleasing right now."

"You, Mistress."

"The entire sentence, Derek."

"I should be pleasing you, Mistress."

"And who else?"

"Anyone watching in the room." He pauses, then quickly says the whole sentence. "I should be pleasing anyone watching in the room, Mistress."

"How?"

Derek can't help himself, losing his breath as she continues to use his cock. He starts pushing up into her each time she lowers herself to take him inside. His hands have somehow found her thighs and he doesn't even realize he's touching her. His body just knows that he needs this. Everything is this. He hasn't cum in so long.

"That is a good, pet. Put on a show. Let it happen. Let yourself feel it." Her hands slide up his chest, fingers curling, sharp nails sliding back down.

How can he not feel this? He needs to be used like this now and he hates it. He needs his cock to be touched. He needs something in his ass. Either way, his body is more alive, everything is more intense, than it ever has been.

The Mistress leans down, whispering in his ear. "Cum now."

"Yes, Mistress." His voice is tight, strained, it's a cry that doesn't even sound like himself.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

For the next week, Derek grows accustomed to the Mistress's harem. He watches the way they exist as one cohesive unit, the way they seem to care for one another, the camaraderie between them. Sometimes he feels like he's a part of them, like when he lies with his head in Lily's lap and she runs her hands over his skin, nothing sexual about it, just soothing. Sometimes Dare sits with him and they just talk. Dare will hold his hand and answer all of his questions.

Dare has been in the harem for almost five years. One time Derek asks him if he's always been transgender. He secretly hopes that Dare says yes because it's one thing for it to be your personal truth, it's another to have it forced on you.

"I don't really remember what I was before here." Dare confesses. "I mean, the memories are foggy. I went through therapy in the labs and they did some experiments that... I just know I started to forget who I was. And then I was this." Dare grins cockily. "It isn't so bad to be this. Our Mistress thinks I'm beautiful and there are worse things, worse places to be."

Derek knows that that's true. The catacombs, for instance.

"Feel 'em, Derek. They feel real."

What begins as Derek feeling Dare's breasts turns into something playful and sweet that gets Derek to genuinely laugh and smile for the first time in what feels like forever. The smile feels strange on his lips in this place, like it's as out of place on his lips as he is here in the harem.

One day men bring in two massive portraits they add to the collection along the walls. One is of Derek's genitals from the dinner party a few nights ago, his sac stretched and his hard cock weighted down. The second is of him with a cock in his mouth, Nick's, he thinks. His eyes look up at whoever it is; intense, dark and angry. He's gotten to where he can pick out which portraits belong to which pets. Now Derek is a part of the collection.

Each night Derek is encased in bodies, pets all piled onto the large pallet and tangling their bodies together. Derek likes sleeping like this. He likes that he isn't alone. He even feels safe here.

One night he wakes up to his plug being slipped from his ass. Lily's soft lips are on his and Derek naturally kisses her back. He makes a sound of protest as he feels cock pushed into him from behind. Lily quietly shushes him

"Shh. It is Dare." Lily soothes him, her delicate hand sliding down Derek's body to his cock. "Allow him." She kisses him again, so gentle. "I want you to taste."

Taste? Lily shifts up on the pallet, shifts, lifting Derek's head so that her thigh is a pillow for Derek's head. Now he understands. He licks at her pussy, tasting and teasing. Dare's cock pushes up inside of him and it feels so good. Someone's lips are on his abdomen, a hand fists and tugs on his own cock. Who? Does it matter? The entire pile of pets seem to be involved in one large orgy with one another.

This time Derek finds that he wants it. It isn't a forced want. He actually likes most of the pets. There are one or two who seem to keep their distance from him, but mostly they're good people who have had their minds twisted and warped. It's good. This is good. And damn if it doesn't feel good to want sex of his own accord.

Derek cums three times that night. He's okay with it.

By the end of the week there's a part of Derek that's dreading leaving the harem. The dark-eyed man he was sold to is an unknown. Outside of here is an unknown. There's another part of Derek that wants to get out, away from the Mistress, away from the Gallery, away from the multitude of guards. Out there he might be able to find an escape route.

Derek is sitting back in the far corner of the pallet. Lily's back is to him where she sits between his spread legs. She'd asked him to play with her hair so Derek's fingers idly trail through the platinum strands. Jai had come over to them to teach Derek how to braid with her hair. So Derek has braided and unbraided her hair several times by now.

"You will be leaving soon." Jai's shoulder leans against Derek's as he watches Derek's fingers comb through Lily's hair.

Lily sighs. "It makes me sad."

"If anything happens, he will end up back here, Lily. Just like Thomas." Jai says. "The Mistress always takes care of her harem." He nods over to Thomas, one of the pets that Derek has yet to spend any time with aside from sleep. "Thomas was bought by friend of the Mistress's some time back. Apparently he did not turn out to be what her friend wanted. She discovered that he was sold again to another man who treated him poorly. She fought to get him back. Needless to say she is no longer friends with the one he was sold to."

"She will watch you, Derek." Lily adds. "You will be safe."

Derek can't decide if that's meant to be comforting or not. He supposes it is. But he can't let himself take it that way completely.

"If something goes wrong with your new owner, just wait." Jai says, pressing a kiss to Derek's shoulder. "The Mistress will always come for you."

Once in the gallery, always in the gallery, Derek thinks. Once in the harem, always in the harem?

 

* * *

 

When they come for him, Derek isn't ready at all. Guards stand at the door and call his name and Derek stays on the pallet just staring at them as if he had misheard them.

It's Dare who puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "Gotta go."

Derek swallows hard and gets to his feet. Dare engulfs him in a hug. Lily leans up on the tips of her toes and Derek has to lean down a bit so she can kiss his cheek.

Jai stands in front of him. "There is only one of you, Derek. You are not a 'we'. And you are okay. Remember that. Be present. Be a good pet for your new owner. I hope we will see you again someday." Jai steps out of the way. "You must go."

Six armed guards. They flank him as he steps out into the hallway, two in front, two in back, one at each side. Derek is surprised to find Nick to his left. He can't take his eyes off of him. Somehow, with Nick here, he knows he'll be okay. Nick will tell him what to do.

 _No. Nick is one of the bad guys._ Isn't he?

In the front entryway the Mistress stands there, looking immaculate as always. "My ferocious pet. Kneel."

Once Derek has knelt, she steps around him in a circle in the same way she had the first time they had met. "I want you to make me proud as your new owner's pet. I would not sell a member of my harem to just anyone. He is a good man and will treat you well. Should anything happen, I will come for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

In front of him, she dips down and glides her fingers over his cheek to his chin, making him look up at her. "You are gorgeous, Derek. You were chosen by me. You have quickly been chosen by another. Be proud of that." She removes the collar from his neck. Derek feels naked, as if he isn't already so.

She glances up to Derek's left and nods. Nick leans down and put a needle to Derek's neck, drugs quickly entering his system and making the world blur around the edges.

_Nick is one of the bad guys._

Just as Derek starts to fall to the floor and guards catch him to keep him from doing so, he sees a wooden coffin sized crate being carried in. Derek feels the air leave his body and only manages to shake his head before the world goes black.

 

* * *

 

There has been a time when Derek was a hero. He would sweep in and save people, kick down doors and capture the bad guys and put them away behind bars. He dreams of those times. He dreams of kicking down the door to the Mistress's home and saving the pets in her harem, taking them back to whatever lives they had before, or at least giving them the chance to _choose_ what life they want. He dreams of finding Nick and taking him with him, spending time with him outside of the labs so that he can make peace with whether Nick is good or bad.

He dreams of saving himself and getting back to his life from before, only in his dreams he doesn't quite fit into that life the way he used to. Everyone looks at him strangely, with pity or uncertainty. He's a circle trying to fit into a square hole.

He dreams of seeing his team down the street just as Martin is driving him away. The nightmare is mixed in with the catacombs. He screams for Hotch, Reid, Rossi, anyone to see him but they're unintelligible screams because there's metal in his mouth, drool on his chin. Piss. He smells like piss.

Derek dreams of a wooden coffin-like box, shifting and shaking. He can't move. He cries. He panics.

 

* * *

 

His eyes snap open, his mind a fog. He's in the box. His ears have that hollow popping feeling of having changed altitude several times and he hears some kind of engine, not a car. Airplane? How long was he unconscious? The walls of the box are closing in and Derek screams and thrashes in the small space, trying to get out. He panics.

_Let me out. Let me out. Please, let me out!_

He panics.

He cries.

He hurts.

He sleeps.

 

* * *

 

The box jostling wakes him up again. He's lost in his own head space though. He isn't in the box with his physical self. His mind can't take that right now. He goes somewhere else. Not to his safe place that Carl and his goons had ruined. It's a new place. He's back in the harem. Lily's delicate hands slide over his body and Dare tells jokes while Jai looks on and rolls his eyes, trying not to laugh.

Dare is funny and Derek laughs. His laughter fills the small space of the crate as it's carried from one place to another.

_Feel 'em, Derek. They feel real._

Derek laughs and laughs.

 

* * *

 

He's lost. Derek's fallen down a dark rabbit hole and he can't get out of it. His body is jostled as the crate is set down. He vaguely hears things happening outside of the crate. There's a voice that would be familiar were he in his right mind. The locks on the crate snap open and a dim glow of lamplight fills the crate.

Derek just lays there, waiting. He's lost in that dark place even as a man tries to speak with him.

"Looks like he tried to get out." A voice says.

The dark-eyed man leans over him. "Not just that." A hand is pressed to his cheek. "He's... Derek? Can you hear me?"

Derek laughs.

 

* * *

"He's damaged." The dark-eyed man is speaking into a phone. "How could your people not know that he's claustrophobic?"

Derek is staring at a ceiling with wooden beams across it, a fancy chandelier hangs from it.

"You might add that to his file." The dark-eyed man adds. "Yes, he's otherwise fine. I'll take care of him, of course. I just wanted you to know. Of course. Thank you."

The man is there again, leaning over Derek. Derek looks back at him this time.

"Stand up."

Another man at the other side of the crate is helping Derek out. Derek is led to a bathroom where he's set down as water is drawn into a bath tub. Derek is told to sit in the tub and he does so. He looks down to see his hands are shaking, the nails that had been carefully manicured are broken, his knuckles cracked and bleeding. Why are his hands shaking?

"It's all right, pet. You're alight." The dark-eyed man has knelt by the tub. He's picked up a sponge and spread some musky, masculine scented gel on it. He starts to wash Derek. "You won't be put in another small box like that, I promise you."

Derek starts to come back into himself. He's at his new owners place. There are only two men in here with him. He looks over to the other man, a bald man in a suit. Then he looks to his new owner, dark eyes just as he remembers, black hair slicked back away from his face, handsome with chiseled features and thin lips.

The man smiles at him. "There you are. Come back to us."

Looking back down at his hands, he finds them still and strong. _I'm okay_ , he thinks.

Derek lets the man wash him, then is told to stand and step out of the tub. The dark-eyed man uses a soft towel to dry Derek off from head to toe. Now that Derek's head is starting to clear, he has a chance to notice that this bathroom is massive. The tub he had been in is big and square, able to fit several people if wanted.

"Follow me."

The man turns and walks away, moving back into the bedroom. There are two men just taking the wooden crate out of the room when they enter. The bedroom is huge. There's a large bed at one end with a door off to the side. One wall is lined with windows that curtains are drawn closed over. There's a fire roaring in the fireplace and the dark-eyed man pulls a small pallet close to one of the high-backed plush armchairs before having a seat. Derek knows that the pallet is for him and he kneels on it in front of the man, looking up to him.

For a long moment, the man just stares at him. Derek stares back, waiting.

Finally, the man leans forward. "My name is Antoine. I'm your new master and you will call me Master. Let me hear you say it, Derek."

Derek feels his eyes harden, swallows down what he really wants to say about calling anyone 'master', and then makes himself say it. "Master."


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

In truth, Derek is ready for anything. He's braced himself for the worst. Imagine his surprise when they just talk. Antoine asks Derek questions that he instructs him to answer truthfully. Derek isn't trusting even that much until they get started. Something horrible is about to happen. Isn't it?

On a small table by the armchair, there's a plate. On the plate is tiny cuts of meats, cheeses, fruits and vegetables.

"Say your name." His Master says.

"Derek."

"What are you?"

"I'm your pet." That's the right answer, isn't it? 

_I'm not a whore. I'm not a hole._

It must be right, because Antoine smiles and plucks a small square piece of cheese from the plate and holds it out to Derek. There's a moment where Derek looks between the cheese and his new Master, unsure if he's supposed to take the cheese from him with his mouth or his fingers. His hands are clasped behind his back where they should be. In the end, Derek leans in to carefully take the cheese with his teeth, erring on the side of caution. He's careful not to touch his Master's skin.

_I'm not a biter._

He has to bide his time. Once he gets a layout of this place, once he knows how many people he's up against, he's getting the hell out of here. Right now he has nothing binding him, holding him down. If he can keep this freedom of mobility, his chances are better. Derek has no idea what kind of man Antoine is. All he knows is that he's the kind of man who buys people. Right now he has to play it safe in order to keep what freedom he has.

"Who am I to you?"

"You're my Master."

_Words. Master is just a word._

"Any favorite foods, Derek?"

It's such a simple question, and yet Derek trips over it like it's something more difficult than it should be. He'd turned a lot of those things off, the parts of him that make him an individual, a unique human being, the man he used to be. What were his favorite foods?

"Derek?"

He looks up into dark eyes and still can't think of the right answer. Is there a right answer?

"Do you like cheese?"

"Yes Master." That one is easy. It's on the plate Antoine provided. Derek has to like it, right?

"What about..." Antoine selects a small cherry tomato from the plate and holds it out to Derek. "Tomatoes?"

"Yes Master." Derek leans in to carefully take the tomato from the other's fingertips.

"Do you have a favorite color, Derek?"

Does he? Derek doesn't get to wear clothes anymore. There used to be some colors he liked. He wore more blues and grays than anything. He looked good in blues and grays. But those can't be the right answer. He looks around the room, the reds and browns, blacks and golds. The bed sheets are black.

"Black? Master?"

"Is that a question?"

"I..."

"No, Derek. I want the truth." Antoine picks a small cube of ham from the plate. "Do you like ham?"

"Yes Master." When the meat is held out to him, Derek takes it with his teeth.

"Do you have a favorite color?"

Derek swallows hard, thinking.

"Do you like music, Derek?"

"Yes Master?" Is that right?

"Do you have a favorite color?"

"Uhm..." He looks down to the floor, trying to think. Why is this so hard? What's the right answer? What does Antoine want from him?

"Do you like horses, Derek?"

Looking up, Derek finds the other man looking at a large portrait on the wall above the fireplace, a black horse rearing up on his hind legs, strong powerful. In fact, most of the artwork in this room, paintings and statues, are of horses. When he looks back to Antoine, dark eyes are trained on him.

"Yes Master." He knows very little about horses, in truth. He's always been a city guy. But Antoine obviously likes horses. Derek should like them too.

"Do you have a favorite color, pet?"

Derek feels his heart thudding loudly in his chest. He has a favorite color. What is it? What does Antoine want to hear? What's the right answer?

_Please don't send me back to the catacombs. Please don't put me in a box. Please..._

"Derek."

"What do you want from me?" Derek mouths the words.

"What's that?"

His gaze snaps up with fire in his eyes and he screams. "What do you want from me?!?!"

Antoine doesn't look startled, but his lips pull into a smile after a moment and he plucks a piece slice of strawberry from the plate. He holds the fruit out to Derek. "You're safe here, pet. Do you like strawberries?"

Derek thinks he might be going insane, slowly slipping into madness. He takes several deep breaths to calm himself. "Yes Master." He answers, leaning in to mindlessly take the strawberry from his Master's fingers.

They go on like this for awhile, although Antoine never asks if Derek has a favorite color again. When Derek stumbles over the most rudimentary of questions, he skips over them and moves on. It's never been more clear to Derek just how much he's been altered, not just physically, but mentally too. Simple things, personal things, neither are simple or personal anymore. Surviving hell has done a number on him. How does he get the things he lost back?

Finally, just when Derek is so tired of questions that he thinks he might explode again, his stomach full of good food fed to him by Antoine, the man leans back in his seat and crosses one leg over the other.

"I love horses. Beautiful creatures. Majestic. Each with their own personality." He looks back up to the painting over the fireplace, back down to Derek. "Have you ever wanted to be a horse, Derek?"

He starts to say no, but realizes that that might not be the right answer. He's already shaking his head though. In the end he answers honestly. "No Master."

"I have a confession to make." Antoine smiles and sips from a glass of wine. "Everything I learned about training a pet, I learned from my brother. He's the professional, not me. I lucked out with my one and only pet I've ever had. He was very... amiable and malleable. I adored him. I miss him."

Antoine leans forward again, fingertips glancing lightly over Derek's features. "You're very different from him in many ways. But you're also very much the same. I think I could absolutely adore you if given half a chance."

Derek wants to ask what happened to his Master's last pet. He wants to scream that he doesn't want this man's adoration. He wants to lean into that gentle touch in the same way Jai taught him to react to all touch. In the end he doesn't ask and he doesn't scream. He does the easier thing, the thing he knows is right, and leans into the touch. It's gentle. It's soft. It feels good.

"You are stunning." Antoine whispers. "Both now when you quietly ask for my touch and before when your frustration got the better of you. That fire in your eyes, dangerous and wild, but also pliant. I want to adore you, Derek. Let me."

Antoine's fingertips are beneath Derek's chin, tilting his head up. Then their lips meet and Derek automatically returns the kiss. At first he doesn't return it because he wants to, but because it's what he knows he's supposed to do. After a moment he realizes that he's returning it because it feels as good as the touch at his chin. It's almost sweet, like kisses from Lily and Dare.

The kiss ends before Derek is ready for it to end. He feels that incomplete feeling, the uncomfortableness that comes with arousal unmet. He hates that he doesn't know or understand his own body anymore.

His Master goes to a chest of drawers, pulls one drawer open and brings back a black and silver box. He sits the box down on the small table by the plate and opens it. Inside gleams a thick silver collar with inlaid onyx gems all along the center length of it. Derek watches as Antoine takes it out of the box and moves behind him.

"Who do you belong to, Derek?"

Derek sighs. No one owns him. Only he isn't entirely certain of his lack of ownership in the moment. Nothing is a simple truth anymore. "I belong to you, Master."

The weight of the collar feels oddly comforting. The metal is initially cool against his skin, but quickly starts to warm against it. When the collar is snapped at the back of his neck, he hears a mechanical beep come from it. The collar is something more that he doesn't understand yet.

Antoine is in front of him again. Derek looks up to him. "Beautiful." The man says. Then he turns away. "Follow me."

Derek gets to his feet and follows the man. The thought that he might should have crawled instead of standing without permission occurs to him belatedly. Nerves rise inside of him, making his steps falter. 

Antoine pauses and looks back. "What is it, pet?"

"Should I be on the floor, Master?"

The man gives Derek a soft smile that could almost be seen as kind. "No, this is fine. If I want you to crawl, I'll tell you. Thank you for asking." He turns and opens the door beside the bed and a sweet smell fills the space. Inside is another door, or half a door. It's like a half door you see on a barn or in stables sometimes. It's wooden. The top half is pushed open inside and the bottom half is closed. His Master pushes it open and enters the space.

As Derek follows, he finds a space with walls entirely lined with slats of wood. There are cabinets along one wall, a wooden saw horse in a corner, what looks like a feeding trough in another corner. At the wall opposite the cabinets is a fenced in area. The fence is low so that it can be seen over, the slats spaced out so it can be seen through. The sweet smell is hay. Hay covers the floor and there are fleece blankets on parts of the hay.

Antoine unlatches a gate on the fence and gestures inside. "In you go. This is where you'll sleep unless I say otherwise."

Derek steps through the gate onto the hay and looks back at Antoine. Is this supposed to be a stable? In his house? Derek is almost glad that he isn't supposed to speak. He has no idea what he'd say.

"It's very comfortable to lie on. Try it, pet."

Going over to one of the blankets on the hay, Derek gets down to his knees, looks up at Antoine watching him with glee in those dark eyes, and then Derek lies down. It is comfortable. The blankets are soft. The hay is cushioned.

Is nothing else going to happen to him? He was asked a million questions and fed and bathed and now he gets to sleep? He'd been braced for the worst and the worst hadn't even come close to happening.

"You look lovely there, pet." Antoine says, closing the gate and latching it again. "You'll stay here until I come to get you in the morning. Understood?"

"Yes Master."

"Sleep well, Derek."

When Antoine leaves, Derek leans up on an elbow to look through the slats. The top of the door has been left open. The bottom half is closed and latched. He can hear the crackle of the fire in the bedroom. He can hear Antoine moving around. Should he try to make a run for it now? No. Not yet. He doesn't know what's outside the bedroom.

Derek lies his head back down and imagines warm bodies all around him, arms draped, hands touching. He imagines he's in the harem where he isn't alone, where everything is warm and safe. Strange how his definition of 'safe' has changed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

Derek doesn't sleep the whole night through. He's too on edge for that, waiting for the floor to fall out from beneath him. He keeps waking up, knowing that Antoine is just in the other room, on the other side of this wall in that massive bed with silken black sheets and red and gold comforter. Sometimes he'll hear the shift of mattress and sheets in the other room. He thinks he can smell the sweet aroma of pipe tobacco.

He's in a moment of that in-between place between sleep and awake when he hears the latch on the door. Derek pushes up to his knees just as Antoine enters the space every bit as naked as Derek is. The man is lean and handsome. Derek notices that Antoine still has hair on his body, something Derek no longer has from the neck down.

"Good morning, Derek." He unlatches the gate to the area with hay and blankets on the floor and steps in. "Stand up, pet." When Derek does so, he busies himself with dusting hay off of Derek's body and picking any from the braids on his head. Then he tells Derek to follow him and he does.

After turning on the water, he ushers Derek into the shower. The walls are glass and Derek thinks Antoine might want to watch him wash himself like Nick used to do in the labs. But dark eyes are right there with him in the shower. Antoine picks up a different, but also familiar, wand and instructs Derek to bend over. Three times he's filled with water and told to go out to the commode to release it. He's grown immune to it being something to be ashamed of. He's no longer embarrassed by it.

Once that's done, Antoine busies himself with washing Derek's body down. It's that same musk scented soap that was used yesterday. The other man uses it on himself too. Derek likes the scent of it. It's something he might have bought for himself in his life before.

Antoine kisses him again. Derek kisses back because he's supposed to. "Now you smell like me, pet. I'm always with you in this way."

Outside of the shower, Antoine once again dries him off with a plush towel. The only thing Derek does for himself is to brush his teeth. His Master is right there with him though, watching. Antoine looks over the wounds on his hands and knees from his panic attack in the crate and spreads some salve over the broken skin. He files down Derek's broken nails. Then he makes Derek wait and watch him get dressed in a closet that's just about as big as the bathroom itself. There's even a pallet on the floor of the closet for Derek to kneel on.

He leads Derek back to the room off to the side of Antoine's bed. One of the cabinets is opened to reveal lots of leather and metal gear that Derek has no idea how to define what it is. Antoine picks out some leather straps and starts to fit them onto Derek's torso. They form an 'X' over his chest and an 'I' at his back down his spine.

After that's done, Derek is told to bend over the saw horse. As he starts to do so, he notices straps at the base of all four legs.

"I don't need to tie you down, do I?" Antoine asks.

"No Master."

"That's a good pet." The man pets along Derek's spine.

For a moment nothing happens. Derek just rests there with his front over the top of the saw horse, his hands holding onto two of the legs in front of him. Then Antoine instructs him to spread his legs a bit more and he does. He feels cool gel being spread over his hole and pushed inside of him.

Did he just groan at the sensation of being touched there? Fuck. He thinks he did. And then Antoine is chuckling behind him and telling him he's such a good pet. Once Antoine thinks he's been slicked up enough, Derek feels the press of what he assumes is a plug. It's a little bigger than he's used to, but his ass seems to take it easily enough.

"Very good. Now, let's go have breakfast, shall we?"

Derek pushes up from the saw horse to stand and the moment he starts to walk, he feels the tickle of hair at the backs of his legs. He pauses and tries to look back. He catches glimpses of long black hair.

"Do you like your tail, Derek?"

Tail? This is a stable. He slept in a stall. Now he has a tail. What's happening?

_Do you like horses, Derek?_ Antoine had asked him that. _Have you ever wanted to be a horse?_

He looks back to Antoine, every kind of argument in the book ready to spill out of him. Derek stops himself before he can mess things up. If they're getting out of the bedroom to eat breakfast then he can see more of this place, get an estimate of how many people are in the building.

"It's different, Master."

One of Antoine's hands lifts to cup Derek's cheek, his thumb smoothes over his cheekbone. Derek instinctively leans into the gentle touch. "You'll get used to it."

Derek follows Antoine out of the bedroom into a long hallway. There are rooms off to either side, some doors open, some not. Derek spots what looks to be an office, another room is a library. There's a wide staircase that Antoine leads him down. Then he starts to see people. There are people cleaning the floors, dusting furniture, refilling flowers in vases and guards at the doors. They all pause what they're doing and look at him as Antoine leads him through the house.

Derek feels the heat of embarrassment again, this time because he's naked with a tail sticking out of his ass. But he lifts his chin and tries to push that embarrassment away.

He strains to see out of the windows. It's white. There's snow outside. It makes a chill run down Derek's spine. It isn't cold in the house. It's warm, as a matter of fact. Even the wooden floors feel heated beneath his feet. The suggestion of the cold outside is enough to make Derek glad that he's inside.

They pass through a foyer and into a dinning room. There's more horse artwork in here. Antoine has a seat in one of the chairs at the head of a long table. Derek is about to kneel on the hardwood floor when a woman brings in a small pallet to place by Antoine's chair. That's for Derek. He kneels on it. Another woman brings coffee into the room. Derek used to like coffee. The smell of it awakes those memories.

"Thank you, Sara." Antoine says.

"Breakfast is almost ready." Sara adds as she leaves the room again. "He'll make a beautiful stallion, Sir."

His Master smiles at that. "Yes he will."

Antoine sips at his coffee. "Do you have a favorite color, Derek?"

That question again. Derek doesn't even try to answer it this time. He just shakes his head. "No Master." He strains to look out of the windows lining one wall of the dinning room. Snow. Forests covered in snow. But just in the distance he thinks he can see the tops of buildings. A city, maybe? He feels a spark of hope.

"I think you do. I think your training in the Gallery chipped away at pieces of who you are." Antoine pauses a moment. "Do you see anything interesting out there?"

Derek's gaze snaps back to his Master. He'd gotten lost in what was outside of those windows. "I'm sorry, Master."

"It's okay. You're thinking of ways to escape. I understand." Antoine sips more coffee.

He doesn't even try to argue the truth. He is thinking of ways to escape. Why wouldn't he be?

"I want you to speak freely with me now. Tell me about your life from before."

Is this a trap? Derek doesn't want to talk about his life before this craziness. He has to keep that shut out of his mind or he'll lose what little control over himself he still has. In those memories lie emotions and sadness and upset. Not for the memories themselves, but for the loss of making more of them.

"Derek. Tell me something about yourself from before the Gallery." Antoine prompts.

The man is patient with him because for a long time Derek mulls over what to say. He tries to look at this from every angle for a catch of some kind. He tries to figure out the right way to answer. He's at a loss. When did the simplest of things become so hard? What is his favorite color? When did the hardest of things become so simple? He didn't blink twice at the enema this morning.

"I was abducted." They're words he's never said aloud. Now that he's said them, he feels a lump rising in his throat. He was abducted. He was put in a cage and raped again and again. His sister was killed in front of him. He was abducted from the man who abducted him in the first place and given to the Art Gallery. He was a hole. Raped again and again until he started calling it fucking just to keep himself sane. They took pieces of him away so that he didn't fit back together the way he should have. He was experimented on and turned into something that craves sex, that can only think about sex most of the time. Then he was...

Antoine is staring curiously at him. Derek tries to school his emotions into something unreadable. Then he repeats the words. "I was abducted."

Antoine nods. "I know. I'm sorry that happened to you. You do know that you can't go back. You can only go forward. Tell me something else. Tell me something that used to make you smile."

Derek draws in a deep breath, swallowing past the lump in his throat. What used to make him smile before the only thing that made him smile were Dare, Lily and Jai? "Friends. Dancing, I liked dancing." It seems so silly now. That life feels foreign to him.

"Tell me about the lion tattoo on your arm."

"Lions are fierce, Master. They're fighters." He says. "I liked lions."

"Liked?"

"I don't know what I like anymore, Master."

"You like ham, strawberries, cheese, music, dancing and horses, and apparently lions." Antoine supplies for him. "What is your favorite color, Derek?"

"Blue." He answers without thinking. "Gray..." Then he realizes he answered and looks up to make sure he did the right thing. Antoine is smiling at him.

A tray is brought out. Antoine is having bacon, hashbrowns and an omelette for breakfast. On another plate are assorted bite-sized foods. Antoine feeds him as he had before. Derek is careful not to bite him, only the food. He's even given a few sips of coffee, Antoine carefully holding the mug to his lips and tilting it up so Derek can drink some.

"Do you like sex, Derek?"

The question catches him by surprise. Derek knows he's supposed to say yes. He wants to say no. He hates that saying no would be a lie. Derek not only wants and needs sex now, but yes, he likes it. He liked it with Nick and Doctor Young and the doctor's assistant. He liked it with the Mistress and Lily, Jai and Dare.

"Yes Master." He finally answers.

"I like it too." Antoine says with a thoughtful nod.

Derek waits, knowing his body is reacting to the topic, to the idea of having sex, of feeding that constant itch that's always waiting to be scratched. Will his Master fuck him now? Will it feel good? He needs it to feel good.

Antoine's fingers are at Derek's chin. He leans in, lips pressing to Derek's. Derek kisses him back, his entire body coming alive with a physical need he can no longer control. He starts to scoot closer to the edge of the pallet on his knees, closer to his Master.

"Not yet, my pet."

Derek hears himself exhale a breath he'd been holding, it comes out with some volume, sounding like a whimper. His body craves. It wants. It desires. It needs.

Antoine kisses him again. "Soon."


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

That first day Derek is with Antoine in his home office. There seems to be a pallet on the floor of every room for him. He kneels quietly while his Master types on a laptop and hrms over emails. They pause for lunch. Antoine feeds him by hand again. Derek is naturally careful of his Master's fingers. Then his Master looks through files in a cabinet and types away on his laptop again.

There's a lot of time for Derek to think. He wonders what Jai, Lily and Dare are doing now. He wonders what Nick is doing now. He's counted at least fourteen, maybe fifteen, different faces in the house so far. Who are they? What are they to the man who bought him. Why don't they bat an eye at the fact that Antoine bought him, has him wearing a tail and some leather thing on his chest? He wonders why Antoine wants to know about him from before the Gallery. He wonders what kind of work Antoine is doing. He watches his Master work, doing things that seem like work anyway.

Antoine has long, slender fingers, strong hands. He's hairy but not too hairy. His lips are thin and his nose sharp and straight, high cheek bones, chiseled jaw. Those eyes of his are so dark they're almost black. Some of his slicked back hair has fallen forward over his brow as he works. The dark strands are almost to his jaw line.

It must be Wintertime, given the snow. Or maybe he's somewhere that it snows outside of Winter. It's possible. He vaguely remembers an airplane.

There's several large portraits of horses in here as well. Derek studies them. Horses must be Antoine's thing, his kink. Derek feels the tickle of the hair from his tail at his feet and the backs of his legs and ankles.

Eventually, they make their way back into the bedroom. Antoine sits in his chair by the fire after it's been lit. Derek kneels on his pallet. His Master opens a book and starts to read to him. There is no title on the book binding or the cover. But as Derek listens, it's a story about horses, horses that can think and speak and feel like humans.

Derek lets himself get lost in the flames of the fireplace, the story Antoine reads, and the timbre of Antoine's voice. It's calming. It's relaxing.

His Master stops when there's a knock at the door. Food and wine are brought in like the night before. Antoine feeds him and lets him taste of the wine the same way he had the coffee that morning, by feeding it to him.

After dinner, Antoine slips down to the floor with his back against the front of his armchair. He pulls Derek close and his hands pet over his skin. Derek remembers Lily doing the same. It feels good, but different. Antoine's hands are bigger and stronger. He finds himself relaxing into the touch anyway. The peace of the day is welcome after so many days where there were horrors around every corner.

They kiss for awhile, lips playing off of one another, testing, tasting, learning. They kiss enough that it turns heated and Derek is almost disappointed when Antoine tells him it's bedtime. Derek is taken to his stable, what his Master calls 'tack' is removed, then Derek is put in his stall on blankets and hay.

This night Derek sleeps well.

The second, third, fourth and fifth day are mirror images of the first. Nothing horrific happens. He's woken up with a cheery 'good morning' from his Master. His Master bathes and cleans him, tends his healing wounds, then Derek brushes his teeth and kneels and watches his Master dress. Derek is with Antoine all day. There are three meals a day. His Master hand feeds him everything, food and drink. Then he watches the man work.

Each evening they sit by the fire and Antoine reads to Derek from that book. Some of the stories turn pornographic in nature in explicit detail. Derek is more amused by it than anything. Then his Master kisses and kisses him. Derek kisses him in return, his body always left wanting for more to the point that it's hard to tell if the want is purely physical.

By the sixth day Derek is looking forward to the evening when he can look into the fire and listen to Antoine. He's had a few moments where he thought to run for that city in the far distance, but he hasn't yet. There are guards at the front door. Derek wonders if they're there specifically for him.

After the usual morning activities and watching his Master dress, after breakfast, they don't go back into Antoine's study so that he can work. Instead, they go back upstairs. Derek kneels on his pallet by the fireplace even though the fire isn't lit. Daylight spills into the room. It's snowing outside again.

Antoine brings a black box over to his chair, sets it on the table and then has a seat. "I want you to try to trust me, Derek. Trust that you're safe here. Trust that I will care for you, no matter what. Trust that I care for you even above myself. I know you don't trust me now. But will you try? Will you think about trying?"

Trust was a difficult thing for Derek even in his life before the Gallery. Now, any trust has been obliterated. But he knows what the right answer is. "Yes, Master. I'll try."

"Will you let me help you try?"

What kind of a question is that? As if there's an option. Derek hasn't had options in so damn long he wouldn't know what to do if he was presented with one. "Yes Master."

"Good." Antoine picks up the box and opens it. Inside is a syringe and vial of some strange liquid. "I want you to give me your arm of your own free will."

Derek wants to ask what it is. Why he's being injected with something. What it's going to do to him. But questioning things has been taken from him. The word 'no' has been taken from him. He untwines his fingers from behind his back and carefully brings one arm forward. All he says is. "Master...?"

"Trust me, Derek." Antoine urges. "Let me help you to trust."

After tapping the inside of Derek's arm to find the vein, he slips the needle in and pushes the liquid into him. Derek watches those dark eyes as the needle is pulled out. "You're being so very good." Antoine's fingers rub lightly over the place where the needle went in.

Things start to blur around the edges for Derek. He's very sleepy all of a sudden.

"Trust me." His Master says once again.

 

* * *

When Derek wakes up, he smells hay. He also smells the familiar musk of the body wash that Antoine uses on the both of them. Derek is warmer than usual, wrapped up in someone's arms. He starts to shift.

"Shhh.... stay where you are." His Master's voice. "I've got you."

Everything is dark. His eyes feel strangely swollen. But even if he could open them, he wouldn't be able to see. Something is wrapped around his head over his eyes. A blindfold? "Master?"

"I'm here. We're in you stall."

Derek feels familiar lips on his brow.

"Just rest for now. Trust me."

He relaxes back against his Master. He's still tired so it isn't too hard to fall back asleep.

 

* * *

 

Derek wakes again to the sound of the latch outside. He pushes up to his knees on blankets and hay. There's still something wrapped around his head. His fingers itch to remove it. He makes the right decision and clasps his hands behind his back. His eyes don't feel swollen anymore.

"Good morning, Derek." Antoine's cheerful morning greeting make Derek tilt his head, listening for him.

The latch to his stall is thrown and he imagines his Master opening the door and stepping inside. "Stand up." Once Derek has stood, Antoine brushes hay off of him, picks some out of his hair.

Together they go through their morning routine. They even go back to the stable room so that Antoine can put the tack back on Derek. This time Derek feels something else attached, clasped onto some rings in the tack at his shoulders. He feels a tug and walks in the direction of it. Without his sight, it makes his steps awkward and hesitant.

Antoine pauses and grips either side of Derek's face. "Trust me, Derek."

Again, there are tugs at his shoulders and Derek moves forward. He's walked around what he thinks is the bedroom, led in circles, back and forth, around and around until he's walking smoothly and with a certain amount of trust in the one leading him.

He's led through the house, down stairs with his Master telling him 'step down' with each step. They have breakfast together, Antoine saying 'bite' with each bite of food and 'drink' with each offer of beverage. Derek has to lean in and blindly accept.

They make their way back up to the bedroom and Derek is put on his pallet. He waits. He listens to drawers being pulled open and closed. He listens to his Master moving around the room. He feels air brush his skin when Antoine moves close by him and sits in his chair.

"I want you to trust me. Will you try to trust me, Derek?"

There's no other answer but this: "Yes, Master."

He feels Antoine's touch, gentle but sure, against his skin, over his chest, down his sides and back up around his shoulders. Then that touch lingers at one nipple teasing and playing with it. Derek can't help but lean into the touch. He wants more. That nipple is pinched and tugged, held onto until something sharp pierces through it.

Derek makes a strange sound, something between a cry and a groan. It's pain and pleasure mixed together in a confusing mess.

"Good. You're so very good, Derek. Such a good pet."

Something is pulled through his nipple, then something smaller. There's a snapping sound, then something soft and wet is being put over the abused flesh to soothe it.

"Breathe, pet."

Derek remembers to breathe.

Again, Antoine is touching him like he's something fragile and precious. Derek lets himself feel it. He presses into it, ignoring the pain in his nipple even as the other one is suddenly fondled, brought to life, then pinched and pulled. The same stabbing pain as before. Derek hums his way through it as something is once again pulled through the flesh painfully slow so that it seems it will never end, until it does with a tiny snap.

Antoine presses the wet cotton to his other nipple, soothing the flesh and wiping away blood.

Logically, he knows he's being pierced. Derek wishes he could see. There's also a part of him that's glad that he can't.

His Master's fingers lightly caress his lips. Derek leans up into the touch. "Open."

There's a brief moment where Derek feels his nerves spike quick and high. He remembers metal being shoved into his mouth to keep it open. This isn't the same thing. Antoine is not a brute in the catacombs. Derek hesitantly opens his mouth.

"Very good Derek. Trust me."

Antoine's fingers catch his tongue, pulling until he can clamp something down on the tip. He pulls Derek's tongue out and Derek knows what's coming, another needle through muscle. This one hurts like hell and he makes another one of those strange sounds that can't decide whether it's upset or pleased. It takes longer to get through his tongue, but eventually there's a release and a telltale snap. The clamp lets Derek's tongue go.

He feels lips on his and Derek kisses his Master.

"Lie back, Derek."

After lying back, Derek feels Antoine straddle his hips. Fingers lightly pet his cock. Is he piercing there too?

"Trust me."

Those fingers shift upward to the skin just above Derek's navel. It's pinched and tugged. The needle is pushed through and Derek has to work very hard to lie still as it's pulled through skin. When Finally it's done, Derek has to remind himself to breathe again.

"So lovely." Antoine leans down over Derek, kissing at his skin over his shoulders, down his chest and abdomen. Tongue meets Derek's cock, lapping up the length of it. "My beautiful pet. My stallion."

Can a person be driven mad by pleasure and pain and need and desire? Derek is starting to think that yes, they can. He thinks he would let Antoine do any damn thing he wants right now if he'll just keep touching him, kissing him, licking at his cock and sucking on him.

The world is zeroed in on how that warm mouth feels on him, how it makes every inch of his skin want more. His skin is stinging where the needle has been pushed through it. His tongue is swollen in his mouth and he tastes blood. But then there's this: an arousal, a need so great that he would do _anything_ in this moment.

His body needs this. It needs release and yet he holds back because he's always been told to wait since the beginning of his time in the gallery.

Derek leans up, hips lifting off the floor, pushing his cock into Antoine's mouth. His breath is sharp and quick. His body coated with a thin sheen of sweat in spite of the snow outside.

Antoine's hand circles his cock. "Come now." His Master says.

Derek obeys.

 

* * *

Derek's cock hurts as the needle is pushed through it for the eleventh time. He's gasping for air against the pain, still reeling from the pleasure of his first orgasm in too long. He feels outside of himself, pliant and malleable to his Master's whims.

"Last one." Antoine says. The needle slides through the other side, puncture number twelve. A 'Jacob's Ladder' piercing, his Master had called it, six piercings on each side of the underside of his cock.

When he hears the last snap of metal, Derek exhales another held breath. He feels his Master over him on all fours, lips meet his. Derek kisses this man who had just given him something that he's having trouble discerning whether it's good or bad. It was intense. It hurt. It felt so damn good.

Antoine nuzzles his cheek against Derek's. "I'm so proud of you, Derek. You're beautiful. You're perfect. You're just what I needed and wanted. I'm glad you're mine."

His Master lifts up and helps Derek to his feet. "Trust me." He whispers into his ear.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

Derek is held again that night. Antoine lays with him in the hay and blankets in his stall and holds onto him. He coos whispered words of adoration into Derek's ear, telling him how beautiful he is, how perfect he is, how well-behaved and how proud he is of him. 

He would be lying if he said these words didn't reach somewhere inside of him that hasn't been touched in some time. They aren't said with the cool detachment of Doctor Young who's said the same thing to thousands of pets. They aren't said in the condescending tenor of the Mistress. Antoine means those words. He really does think that all of those things he's saying are true. He thinks himself lucky to have Derek as a pet.

By morning Derek's tongue feels normal size again. It feels strange to have metal in his mouth. All the bits of him that have been pierced are sore. Where his body touches Antoine's is slick with perspiration from his warmth. Derek likes it and tries not to move so as not to wake him up.

Eventually though, Antoine does wake up. Derek wakes to a hand gently stroking his newly pierced cock. It carries with it that strange mixture of pleasure and pain again. His hips automatically push into the touch even in his half awake state.

"Good morning, Derek." The words are whispered into his ear. They aren't chipper as they usually are. They're a quietly shared secret between the two of them, intimate.

"Good morning, Master." Derek has never returned the greeting before. He doesn't know why he does now, but it feels right. The feel of a lips smiling at his shoulder, followed by a kiss, says that he didn't make a mistake.

Fingers curl beneath the silver collar at his neck. Antoine whispers in his ear again. "I want you to straddle me."

Derek shifts up to his knees. With the blindfold still in place, he has to reach out and touch to see where his Master is. But eventually he's straddling his hips. Before he can clasp his hands behind his back, he feels Antoine take one and pull. Derek's hands are placed just above his Master's shoulders on the fleece blanket beneath them.

In his mind's eye Derek can see his Master's face, those chiseled features, that sharp nose, dark eyes. He can picture elegant hands with long slender fingers as they curl around both of their cocks together. He feels the hard length against his own.

"Move, pet. Rut against me like an animal."

Derek smirks, remembering some of the stories Antoine has been reading to him, how the animals, horses, would rut against one another. It feels silly that that's what's in his mind as he starts to move, pushing himself into his Master's fist, his cock sliding against the other man's so that he can feel the bump-bump of new metal in a place where there wasn't any before. The Jacob's Ladder piercings. He doesn't have to see them. He can feel them. I can feel everything.

Inevitably, silly gives way to a physical pleasure so great that it leaves no room for feeling silly. His body has to react. It's too intense not to and a heady groan escapes his throat.

"Oh, my sweet, wild, darling..." Antoine breathes the words out as if they were the most sacred of prayers. "Derek, yes. Such a good pet."

When he's told to cum, it's a cry from his Master's lips. Derek's body instinctively goes there anyway. He can feel Antoine's body shudder and tense between his thighs. His Master is spilling his pleasure too. Derek is told to lick his Master's torso from groin to shoulders. He does so, collecting both of their spill along the way.

 

* * *

 

He can't look away. Antoine has finished cleaning him inside and out. His Master has dried him with another soft towel. He's told to brush his teeth and he does so. Salve is carefully put onto healing wounds, then the tug at his shoulders makes him follow his Master into his closet onto the plush carpet in there. He isn't led to his pallet to watch his Master dress. Instead, he's stood and turned and positioned, then the blindfold is removed.

At first, Derek's eyes had had to adjust to even the dim light in the closet. But then he sees himself. His piercings. His hair has been shaved at either side of his head and re-braided in a mohawk of braids down the center that lean to one side... like a horses mane.

And his eyes. Now he knows why they felt swollen. His Master has tattooed a dark frame around his eyes, like the designed eyeliner that Jai taught him to put on, but cat like, dramatic.

He can't look away. Who is that person? It isn't the man he saw in the labs that he couldn't equate with who he thought he should be. It isn't the man he saw in the mirrors in the harem where he couldn't tell if he had given in too much. This is a different person entirely.

Antoine stands over his shoulder, his hands sliding up and down Derek's arms at his back. "Beautiful wild thing." He kisses Derek's shoulder. "Go kneel on your pallet."

Derek has to make himself step away from the mirror. He kneels on his pallet and watches his Master get dressed.

"I'll have to start going back into work tomorrow, pet. I took two weeks off for you. I could take more if I thought we needed it. I own the company. But I think we're on the right track, don't you Derek?"

"Yes Master." A day without Antoine every minute of the day? Derek hates that he can't tell if he's upset or excited by the prospect. His heart does a strange thing like what it used to do when he missed someone before they were even gone. His mind is thinking that this might be his chance to run.

"I'll be here for breakfast. You'll spend your day in your stable. Someone will bring you lunch and then I'll be back around three." Antoine looks over to Derek. "We'll still have our evenings together. Do you enjoy our evenings together, pet?"

"Yes Master." It isn't a lie. He does enjoy their evenings together.

He's struck by one basic truth right now though. He's torn between running and not, escaping and staying. He's terrified of what might happen tomorrow. He's also looking forward to it.

 

* * *

The morning goes by quickly. Derek is then kissed thoroughly and left in his stables alone. He's in his tack. He's discovered that reigns are attached to the shoulder blade area of the 'X' on his chest. It's what Antoine has been using to lead him around. His horse tail has been brushed out.

For a long time Derek just kneels there on his blankets in the hay and he listens. There's the sound of the tic-tic-tic of a clock on the wall. The maids come in to clean up the bedroom and bathroom. A man even comes into his stall, asks him to move so that he can fluff the hay and rearrange the blankets. This is all usually done while he and Antoine are in his Master's office.

Lunch is brought in and hand fed to him by Sara, who seems to admire him greatly. She calls him a 'good pony' and pets his hair, calling it a 'pretty mane'.

Once she's left, he listens again. Nothing. And nothing. Derek listens to nothing for a long time. Then he gets to his feet and moves to stand at the door to the stable room. The top half is open as always. The bottom half closed. He looks out into Antoine's room and waits. He reaches outside of the door and opens the latch and waits. He takes one step outside of the stable room and waits.

Nothing happens.

Derek had expected everything to happen. It's almost paralyzing that nothing has happened. 

What is he doing? He has it good here, comparatively speaking, compared to where he's been. Antoine is nice to him. The man legitimately seems to give a shit about him. Derek is going to give that up and go back to what? He isn't the man he was. He's a circle. That life from before is square. Has the BAU team caught Carl Buford? Once in the gallery, always in the gallery. There's no escape. They'll come for him and put him back in the catacombs.

Derek takes a step back into the stables and stands there. His fingers scratch over the skin where he can feel the disk on the inside of his arm. It isn't the tracker, but it reminds him of the tracker, the barcode on his ankle, the chip.

He needs sex. How is he going to get sex? He's not allowed to touch himself, to please himself. He's not allowed to wear clothes. He's not allowed on the furniture. No is a bad word. Who's going to tell him what he should do?

He hates that he needs to be told what to do. Derek steps back out onto the carpet and listens. There's still nothing. He makes himself take the several steps it takes to get to the bedroom door. He presses an ear to it and listens. Nothing.

A hand on the doorknob, he slowly turns it. The door opens. He feels guilty. Antoine trusted him enough to leave the door unlocked. Derek shoves that guilt aside and peeks out into the hallway. He sees a maid enter the room he knows is Antoine's library. She must be cleaning. Derek hurries to the door across the hall from that, Antoine's office, and slips inside. He slowly pushes the door shut, turns the knob to keep it from clicking when it's shut, then turns inside to look out of the windows.

He's been in here often enough. He knows there's a trellis outside of these windows. Derek unlocks one of the windows and pushes it open. Then he hesitates again.

_What am I doing? Fuck fuck fuck damn fuck. I'm not a whore. I'm not a hole. I'm not a pet._ He pauses. _Okay, then what the hell am I?_

A noise in the hallway has Derek panicking and swinging his leg over the window sill. It's freezing outside. He gets a steady hold on the trellis and starts to climb down. His collar starts to vibrate, sending minute electrical shocks through his body. It's enough to make him lose his hold and fall to the snow below.

What's happening?

His collar keeps vibrating. He keeps getting shocked and reaches up to try to rip the collar off, tries to find the clasp. His fingers aren't working right. He's being shocked again and again.

Derek hears voices. Screw waiting around. He pushes up and tries to run for the tree line, toward the city that looks so far away now. His feet are freezing in the snow. His body is trembling. The hair of his tail and his mane are wet. He keeps losing his balance and falling into the snow. The collar keeps vibrating and shocking him. One of the times he falls, he can't get back up no matter how hard he tries. His whole body is shaking.

Hands grab him from behind. Derek flails, trying to fight them off. He never utters the word 'no'. But he tries like hell to fight. He keeps being shocked by his collar. It's slowing him down.

When he's in the house again, his collar stops vibrating, stops shocking him. Derek is tired in every way possible. He's taken upstairs to his Master's bedroom, back into the stables and his stall. He's laid on his blankets and left there. The men never speak a word.

Derek is still shaking for a long time before it finally stops. The heat has been turned up in his stall. He can feel it from the vent above. The heat warms him up. The smell of hay feels safe. His fleece blankets that he lays on, but doesn't cover himself up with, feel safe. This entire space feels safe.

He has the horrible thought that it's probably more than he deserves. He's been a very bad pet. What's going to happen to him?


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

For a long time Derek lies on his blankets looking up at the vent where the heat is coming from. The heat feels good on his skin. If it weren't for his mind running in every which direction he would be comfortable here.

Antoine is going to be so angry with him. What's going to happen? Will he be sent back to the gallery? They'll put him in the catacombs for sure. He'd tried to escape. There is no escape.

The collar. It's got some electronic thing that makes it shock him when... is it when he gets outside of a certain radius or did someone notice he was gone and they controlled it somehow? Derek's hand idly feels for the clasp at the back of his neck, there's nothing obvious that might unlock the collar.

All the reasons he shouldn't try to escape, all the arguments his mind had given him about how he is now and how that won't fit into his old life play on repeat in his mind. He shouldn't have even tried it. Or maybe it's good that he tried it.

A handful of voices chime up in his mind to tell him what he should have done, what he could have done, why he's stupid for trying and how horrible it's going to be when his Master gets home. All the voices are his own, just different versions of himself. Jai had told him that he's not a 'we'. But Derek's been a we since he first saw his own reflection in the mirror in the labs after getting out of the catacombs. How had he survived the catacombs? He'd fractured himself, made excuses he never would have made under different circumstances. He did what he had to do. Now he can't undo it.

He lays there and lets his mind get away from him, thinking of all the worst possible scenarios, thinking that maybe he should have fought a little harder, thinking that maybe he should apologize profusely, beg, put himself at his Master's mercy. He's bracing himself for the worst.

Some time later, the door opening and closing sounds in the other room. He hears footfalls on the carpet. Derek gets up to his knees in the hay on top of his fleece blankets. He clasps his hands together behind his back, listens and waits. He occasionally hears something from far away and decides Antoine, or someone, is in the closet/dressing room area. Normally his Master might have asked him in there with him to watch him change clothes, not now.

Derek is a bad pet. He's none of the things Antoine thought him to be.

Eventually Antoine unlatches the outside door and appears in the stables in jeans and a tee instead of the suit he'd gone to work in that morning. He doesn't say a word, just looks at Derek where he kneels in his stables over the fence. His Master doesn't look angry. He looks... disappointed.

Derek stares back, doesn't let himself look away, but he can't stand the silence after awhile. He doesn't much care for the fact that Antoine is disappointed in him either. Disappointment seems worse than anger for some reason. "Master. Permission to speak? Please."

When Antoine nods his permission, Derek starts, words spilling out of him in a nonsensical way. "I know you're upset with me. What I did today was..." Was only natural for a man in his position, right? It wasn't wrong. Maybe it wasn't right either. Antoine hasn't hurt him, not really. Everything with Antoine is getting confusing just like it had been with Nick. Every line is blurred. 

"I used to be somebody. Something... more... than this." That's not what he means to say either. He knows he's saying the wrong thing when Antoine's eyes seem to narrow with frustrated hurt. "There are too many voices... I get confused."

He's not making any sense. He knows this. So he gets to the crux of his fears. "Please don't send me back to the Gallery. They'll put me in the catacombs and I... I can't take that again. I promise I'll stay right here. I won't try to leave again. I'll stay right here and I'll be good. I'll do better."

"I'm not sending you anywhere, Derek. Stand up." Antoine says softly. He unlatches the gate and opens it, stepping inside. Once Derek has stood up, his Master brushes hay off of Derek's skin, dirt as well from Derek's excursion outside. He picks hay out of Derek's braids. Elegant hands slide over his skin, counting each bruise and scratch from Derek's escape attempt. Derek hadn't even noticed that there were any, but it turns out there are quite a few. "You're a mess. Come here."

"I'm sorry, Master." Derek whispers, following those dark eyes out of his stall.

"I know you are. You're a wild thing. You had to try to run. I'd have been surprised if you hadn't at least attempted it once." A first aid kit sits on a table in the stable and Antoine opens it and starts to dress Derek's wounds.

He speaks while he works. "The problem is that you're mine. I'm in charge of your well-being. You hurt what is mine and I can't allow that to pass without repercussions. Cause and effect, Derek. You understand, don't you?"

"Please don't send me-" Derek starts.

His Master interjects. "I said I wouldn't. I always mean what I say, pet." Antoine pets the inside of Derek's thigh as he spreads some salve over a wound there. "If you trust in nothing else, trust that." Dark eyes meet his eyes Antoine stands up again, putting the lid back on the salve. "Now, do you understand cause and effect?"

"Yes sir."

"Of course you do." Antoine nods and puts the supplies away, closing the first aid kit. He moves to the saw horse and pats the top board of it. "Bend over here."

Derek moves to the saw horse and bends over. He looks back behind him for his Master, but the other man is at his front suddenly, leaned over and cuffing Derek's wrists to the legs of the saw horse.

Derek's nerves get the better of him and he finds himself whispering, "Master, please."

Antoine shushes him, a long, drawn out sound that would be soothing under other circumstances. As he moves to the other side, behind Derek he rubs a hand back over Derek's spine. He guides Derek's feet apart, spreading his legs. Cuffs are locked around his ankles at the back legs of the saw horse.

"Your tail is a mess, pet." His Master tsk's his disappointment. Derek has no explanation for how that disappointment makes him feel bad, guilty even. The plug is pulled from his ass and those muscles clench, trying to get it back. "So tangled and matted. We'll get you straightened out."

Derek hears the cabinet open then close. Something long and slender with a tiny flat edge on one end is put in front of his face. A riding crop? Of course it's a riding crop. Riding crops are for horses.

"Tell me the cause of this effect."

"I... tried to run, Master."

"Yes you did. I'm very disappointed in you. Although I'm told you were quite beautiful running out in the yard. Maybe someday I can see it first hand when you have more trust in me." There's a pause here. "You get more freedom by trusting in me, Derek. Remember that."

The crop slides along his lips until the flat tip rests over them. "Kiss it."

Derek kisses the flat of the crop.

His Master moves behind him and doesn't hold back. The crop comes down hard on his ass, so hard that Derek jerks on the saw horse. Antoine is experienced, it seems, knowing just how much strength to put behind each blow to make it hurt but not break skin. He hits one ass cheek, then the other, alternating sides. 

At first Derek thinks he can get through it without making a sound. But what starts as slight pain turns into an ache beyond anything he could imagine that little flat edge being capable of. His skin where it hits feels so hot and it _hurts_ so that he's crying out with each slap to his backside by the point his Master finally stops. Derek is out of breath, his head hanging low over the edge of the saw horse.

Antoine's hand pets over inflamed skin, over the fleshy round of his buttocks and it hurts. His Master doesn't say anything. But Derek hears the snap of a cap and feels the cool of lotion being rubbed over the sensitive skin back there. Then he feels the familiar cool gel slicking his hole inside and out. His body reacts with a heavy groan. How can he hurt so much and be aroused at the same time? Doctor Young had destroyed whatever control or understanding Derek once had over his own body.

The cabinet opens again, then closes. Then another cabinet opens and closes. Antoine kneels behind Derek and pulls his cock down. Something metal is put around him, the feel of it cold and... tight. Something metal is tight around his ball sac too. It's uncomfortable, given his aroused state. He's always aroused though. Always.

Antoine slips another plug into Derek's ass. Then busies himself with combing out the hair of the tail attached to the end of it. "There we go. Beautiful again, my sweet pet."

Derek hears his Master move again, putting things away. The cabinets are closed and then Antoine is kneeling in front of him. His fingers are at Derek's chin, tilting his head up. Derek looks into dark eyes.

"I still adore you, Derek, even when you disappoint me." Antoine says. "This is to teach you what is right and wrong. You understand that?"

"Yes, Master."

"Eventually we're going to talk about everything you said to me when I first walked in. Right now..." Antoine lifts a small box with buttons on it. He presses one of the buttons and a buzzing vibration begins in Derek's ass. Derek can't stop the sound he makes, something pleading. Antoine shakes his head and pets his hand over Derek's cheek. "I'll see you for dinner tonight."

"Master please!" Derek calls out as Antoine stands and exits the stables. "Master!"

 

* * *

 

Derek knows that this is a part of his punishment. He wonders if Antoine knows about all of his 'upgrades' that make this it's own special kind of hell, being so sexually aroused but unable to cum. He's in a constant state of right on the edge of orgasm, but then he can't. It's driving him out of his mind. He couldn't ignore that vibration in his ass if he tried and his body is reacting just as Doctor Young had made certain that it would. He can't get away from it.

He knows it's only hours later, but it feels like an eternity of time passes between when his Master left and when Derek hears the latch to the door of the stables. Derek groans something that he means to sound like 'please, Master', but it comes out as just a needy, unintelligible sound.

A stool is put in front of him and Antoine sits on it. In his lap is a tray with a plate and a cup on it. The plate is piled with apple and carrot slices.

"There, there, pet." Antoine smooths a hand back over Derek's braids. "Who owns you?"

"You own me, Master." He doesn't even have the energy or the brain power to argue the fact.

"Who controls you?"

"You control me, Master."

"Who controls your world?"

"You're my world, Master."

Antoine chuckles at that. "Not quite right, but close enough. Bite." He lifts an apple slice to Derek's lips. Derek takes a bite of it.

"Please, Master."

"Please what?"

" _Please_."

"Bite." Antoine lifts a carrot up, feeds Derek.

They go like this for some time, Antoine feeding him, Derek saying please again and again. Derek thinks maybe when the plate is empty, his Master will turn off the vibrator in his ass. Antoine merely kisses Derek goodnight and leaves the stable. Derek continues to beg even though no one is there to hear.

 

* * *

He can't sleep at all that night. His body is too alive and frustrated. This is the definition of those 'upgrades' being used against him. That morning, his Master comes into his stable and unlocks the straps from his ankles and wrists. Derek's muscles hurt from being in that bent over position all night, but Antoine removes Derek's tack and blessedly the tail, then he tells Derek to follow him to the bathroom.

There's metal all around Derek's straining groin area. It's so tight it hurts. But his Master doesn't remove it. Their normal morning routine is performed. His master does everything for him. This time Antoine even brushes Derek's teeth for him, making him contort his lips and mouth every which way so he can do so. Derek kneels on the pallet in the dressing room to watch his Master dress. Then he's led back to his stable where he's slicked up again, a new tail is put in him. He's redressed in his tack and led downstairs for breakfast.

In the middle of breakfast, his Master feeding him the same apples and carrots from last night, the man looks over to him.

"How do you feel, Derek?"

"Please, Master." Derek says, looking down to his caged cock.

"I know about your upgrades. That's why this particular punishment is good for you." Antoine says. "I control you. I control your world. I control when you eat, sleep and cum. You have to trust me. Trust that I will care for you, that I know what's best for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Any number of things could have happened to you out there without supervision." His Master continues. "You need me."

Derek feels fingertips at his chin, tilting his head up again. Antoine is close. Their eyes meet. "You need me." His Master says again. "Yes?"

"Yes." Derek nods. He would say anything right now. But also, on some level, everything his Master is saying is reaching him, words twining their way around his mind and heart. Derek's defenses are down. His body is betraying him yet again. He needs to cum. He needs this tight coil inside of him to snap. He needs... "Please, Master."

Antoine reaches into his pocket and suddenly the vibration starts up again. Derek makes another strange sound as his body aches with need.

"Not yet, Derek." His Master says. "Soon."

Derek is taken back upstairs. He isn't allowed in his comfortable stall this time. He's bent back over the saw horse, tied down and left there with his own body's betrayal. He's his own worst enemy.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

For a week every day is the same. Antoine puts him through his morning routine, breakfast, then he's left on the sawhorse with the tail plug in his ass vibrating, his crotch still trapped and restrained in metal. Everything is that vibration and what it's making him feel. Everything is a question without an answer, a sentence without a period, arousal without completion.

Derek hears Jai in his mind. _Whose pleasure, Derek?_

It's not about Derek's pleasure. It's never been about Derek's pleasure. It never will be about Derek's pleasure. Derek slips backward into the mindset of the Gallery. He's quit begging. Every time Antoine enters his stables though, he asks him the question he should have always been asking him.

"May I please you, Master?" He asks it again and again, all week long.

His Master continues to reiterate the lesson Derek is supposed to learn every morning and evening. When Derek is left alone for hours at a time when Antoine is at work, Derek repeats that lesson in his mind. It's all he hears. It's all he thinks. That lesson is everything. That lesson will make his Master adore him. Derek needs Antoine to adore him.

_My Master owns me. He controls me. He controls my world. Without him, I'm nothing. Without him, I can't do anything. I have to trust him and he'll take care of me. I only need him and nothing else. He'll take care of me. He'll take care of me. He'll take care of me. He'll-_

"My sweet pet."

Derek hadn't even heard his Master come into his stall. A glance up shows that Antoine is in jeans and a tee. He'd had time to change from work and Derek hadn't even noticed he was here. That familiar hand pets over his mane, down along his back, across his shoulders.

"May I please you, Master?" Derek asks.

"You please me so much already." Antoine's hand smoothes over Derek's ass, fingers tug and comb through his tail. "Do you trust me to take care of you, pet?"

"Yes, Master." A voice in Derek's mind argues with that answer. Another voice tells that first voice to shut the fuck up and leave him alone.

"I will always take care of you. Is there anything you need?"

"You, only you." Derek whispers. "Master."

The plug stops vibrating and is slipped out of Derek's ass. The tug of it makes Derek emit a heady groan. Those muscles clench as they always do when his Master removes the plug for their morning ritual, a silent request to fill him up again. It's not morning though. It's the afternoon. So the plug is being removed for another reason.

He hears the pull of a zipper, the shuffle of clothing. Then Antoine is pushing into him and Derek is so glad for something warm and fleshy that will move inside of him that he feels compelled to show his gratitude with a whispered 'thank you, thank you...', as much of a push back on his Master's cock as he can manage while restrained on the sawhorse and a tight clench of those muscles.

And when did he start crying? Why is he crying? He has no control over anything anymore.

"Such a good pet. Perfection." Antoine coos, pumping into Derek again and again. "You're mine, Derek. Tell me you're mine."

There's a moment where Derek isn't sure he can speak. That physical friction in his ass is just what he needed. But it's only half of the relief he needs. His groin is still encased in metal. He thinks all he can do is make unintelligible noises like what he's been making since Antoine filled him up.

But then, he makes himself gasp the words out. Right words. True words. "I'm yours, Master." Then he adds a wanton plea to the end of it. "Please."

Derek feels the twist and snap of metal and whatever had been restricting him falls to the wooden floor with a loud clank. "Thank you, Master. Thank you." Derek breathes the words out again and again, even as one of his Master's hands reaches down to fist tightly around the base of his cock.

"Who is in control?"

"You. Please, you. Master, please. You." Derek is rambling, words falling into the next as his Master plows into him but still won't let him cum.

"I'm what?"

"You're in control. You control me. You control everything."

"I am your world. You can't leave the world, Derek. You can't go backward. You can only go forward. Let me adore you in this world. Let me take care of you."

Derek wants nothing more than for Antoine to adore him. He wants to please him. His Master's pleasure. Not his own. Never his own. He reminds himself of this even as Antoine grunts, fucking him so hard and fast that the sawhorse is scraping over wood floor.

When Derek feels his Master's spill inside of him, he thinks that maybe he'll be left here, told not to cum, _restricted_ from cuming.

_It's okay_ , he tells himself. _My Master will take care of me. He'll take care of me. He'll take care of me._

As the friction in his ass slows, he hears his Master's voice, controlling, adoring, permissive. "Cum now, my pet. Cum for me."

Finally.

 

* * *

 

After unlocking his wrists and ankles from the legs of the sawhorse, Antoine leads Derek into his stall. Derek has never been so thankful to be in the stall on the soft hay and blankets. Antoine holds him and strokes his hands over his skin.

Derek contentedly curls up against his Master and for awhile they just lie there in silence like that. Derek wants to sleep. He hasn't really slept in so long. His mind is tired. Everything about him is tired. He wants to sleep, but he isn't sure if he's allowed to sleep or not.

_My Master controls my world. He'll take care of me._

"You told me that you used to be something more than this. Are you more than this, Derek?"

"No." Derek answers quickly with a shake of his head against Antoine's chest. "No Master. I'm yours."

"Is there anything more than this?"

A voice pipes up in his mind telling him that there is so much more than this. But he doesn't want to listen to that voice right now. There's just this. Only this. "No, Master."

"My pet, this is the most important thing you could ever be. Without this, without me, what are you?"

"I'm nothing without you, Master."

Antoine kisses the top of Derek's head. "To me, you are everything."

They're both silent for a bit more, Derek letting Antoine's touch soothe him to the point that he almost lets himself sleep. Almost.

"Derek."

"Yes, Master?"

"How many voices do you have in your head?"

"I don't know, Master." It scares him that he doesn't know how many there are, just that there are several, all of them with different opinions, different personalities, different everything.

"That's okay." Antoine pets over his head again, kisses him there. "It's okay not to know. If they confuse you again, I want you to talk to me, even if it's just to tell me you're confused. Understood?"

"Yes, Master."

"Sleep, Derek. Sleep."

Finally.

 

* * *

 

Sleep does wonders for Derek. Two weeks of routine does wonders for him too. He knows he lost his mind there for a bit. He's starting to feel sharp again. His thoughts are making more sense.

When he's alone while Antoine is at work he tries to remind himself of who he is, what kind of man he is, why this isn't him, why he can never fully submit to Antoine.

When his Master is home he's a completely different version of himself. He's his Master's pet. He asks if he can please him. His Master always tells him what he can do to please him.

Between the end of Antoine's work day and dinner, they play in different ways. Antoine puts his reins on him and he leads him around the house. His Master has put a metal bit in his mouth three times. Each time Derek has cried because it reminds him of the metal the brutes put in his mouth. Antoine assures him that someday he'll get used to it. He's also made Derek learn horse sounds. Derek feels silly and ridiculous every time he makes them. But he does it because his Master tells him to.

He hates that he cries. Once he'd started when Antoine finally let him cum after going without for so long, he hasn't been able to stop. Tears creep up on him at different times, but always with the bit in his mouth.

They have dinner, where Antoine hand feeds him as always. Then they sit by the fire and his Master reads to him while Derek stares into the fire. Sometimes they fuck before bed. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes his Master sleeps with him in his stall. Sometimes he doesn't.

Everyday as he looks in the mirror while his Master brushes his teeth, he sees several different versions of himself. He doesn't recognize any of them. To be fair, he isn't sure he remembers what he's supposed to recognize anymore. Everyone's a stranger, including himself.

It's almost a relief when his Master is home. He can turn everything off and just let Antoine guide him. His Master adores him. His Master takes care of him. His Master makes all the decisions for him. It's so much easier this way. It's safer. It's better.

 

* * *

 

Time passes, Derek doesn't know how much. Weeks, maybe Months. Routine is important. It's so important that it's easy to tell when it's disrupted. In the same way a dog instinctively knows when it's supposed to be fed, when its Master will come home from work, when it's bed time, Derek can tell when Antoine is late coming home.

He stays in his stall, waiting. No one comes. Derek lies down but he doesn't sleep.

It's Sara, the woman who feeds him lunch that comes in the next morning. "Oh, pet. We had quite a scare last night. I'm afraid we forgot you were here. Your Master was quite livid with us that you missed a meal."

Derek gets up to his knees. He's quit asking Sara if he can please her. She had to tell him to quit several times before he did. But now, with his routine disrupted, the words are on the tip of his tongue again.

"I'm afraid your Master's ill. Had to go to hospital." She gestures to a man standing in the doorway, one of the guards from downstairs. "Charlie here's going to take you through your morning routine. Your Master says you're to do as he says. Be a good pet, yeah?"

"Yes, Madame."

Derek is taken through his morning routine by the letter, as if Antoine has spelled everything out for Charlie. Everything is done for Derek by unfamiliar hands: the enema, being washed, the brushing of his teeth, filing his nails, shaving the sides of his head to that there's only his growing mane of braids left, taking Derek downstairs to the dinning room and hand-feeding him breakfast. Then he's back up in his stall to spend the day. Sara brings him lunch. Charlie sits by the fire in Antoine's bedroom and reads to Derek. Charlie's voice isn't as soothing as Antoine's.

Derek counts the days that this happens. Six days.

On the seventh day, after Sara has fed him lunch, there's sound in the bedroom. Derek strains his neck up to try to see over the fence, over the bottom half of the stable door. He can't see. He hears the shower turn on for awhile, then turn off.

Eventually Charlie comes into the stable, tells Derek to stand and follow him. In the bedroom, Antoine is getting settled in his bed. Derek's Master looks pale, his cheeks sallow.

"My beautiful pet. Come." He holds an arm out. Derek hesitates because he's not allowed on the furniture. His Master has to say it again. "Come here, Derek."

Derek climbs onto the bed, on top of the covers while Antoine is underneath them, and curls up against his side. His Master's hands are so gentle against his skin. Derek has missed his Master petting him like this. He's missed his Master, period.

"I've heard you've been so good for Charlie and Sara. I'm very proud of you. I've missed you so much. I've worried about you while I was away."

"Master?" The voice he's so familiar with sounds weak and tired. Derek wants to ask if Antoine is okay, what happened, when will things get back to normal. But he finds that a part of him is scared of the answers.

"I'll be all right, Derek. I'm going to have to have some surgery next week though. The recovery time will be... questionable. The Mistress has agreed to take you in until I'm able to Master you again."

What? Derek leans up on one arm, looking down to Antoine. "I can... Master, I can take care of you." He isn't sure why he offers it, maybe he's afraid of change. Maybe he's afraid of outside of these walls. Maybe he's afraid of the Mistress and her condescension. Maybe...

"That's so sweet, Derek. But I don't know... what's going to happen." Antoine reaches up to cup Derek's face. "You are so beautiful. My perfect pet. It will be a month at most, I hope. No more. Don't question it. Just do as I say. Be a good pet and lie down. You'll sleep with me in here tonight."

That squashes any other arguments Derek might have. Derek lies down onto silken sheets and snuggles close to Antoine. "Yes, Master."


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode 8x18 - Restoration
> 
> What if Carl Buford didn't die? What if he lived and escaped from prison? This is going to be an AU where this happens. It's going to take Derek many places and get very dark and twisted. If you are triggered by non-consensual rape elements, this isn't the fic for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! There are still a lot of loose threads, I know. Carl Buford is still out there. Once in the Gallery, always in the Gallery. What's happening to Nick and Antoine? Can the Gallery be brought down? Will Derek be okay?
> 
> Part 2 of this story is coming soon!

It takes awhile for Derek to recognize that the main reason he doesn't want to leave Antoine is because he has feelings for him. What those feelings are, exactly, Derek doesn't know. He just knows that he's worried about him and he wants to take care of him. It's a strange Stockholm that he tries not to think too much about.

Still, his Master tries to take care of Derek where he can. Charlie does most of the morning prep work in the bathroom. Meals are hand-fed to him by his Master though. Antoine makes Derek go to the library and pick certain books out, bring them back to him. His Master reads to him until he gets tired. Then Derek reads to his Master.

This goes on for three days. Three days Derek spends almost all of his time in Antoine's bed with him. His Master looks worse and worse. He asks him at least a dozen times to please let him stay with him. His Master shakes his head and gives Derek a sad look.

"I'm doing this to take care of you. Let me take care of you in the only way I can right now, pet."

That always quiets Derek's arguments. "Yes, Master."

On the fourth day Derek isn't put in his tack and the plug in his ass doesn't have a tail attached to it. Derek doesn't like this change. It leaves a heavy sense of foreboding settled in his mind. There's so much commotion downstairs that Derek can hear it through the doors, through the windows. He pauses in reading the book aloud to his Master to listen.

He'd thought Antoine had fallen asleep so it surprises him when his Master speaks. "They're here. I made them promise not to transport you in a box this time. That means you need to be very good for them. Do as they say. Make me proud."

It's time. Derek doesn't want it to be time. He wants to stay here. A lump starts to grow in his throat. "I don't want you to be alone, Master."

"I'm not alone, sweet pet. The people here are like family. My brother will be here in a few days for the surgery." His Master's elegant hands slide over Derek's skin again. Derek leans into the touch, inviting it, using his body to implore his Master to keep him with him. "I love you very much, Derek. You have brought me great joy. You are the perfect pet."

Someone loves him? He's lovable? Derek doesn't feel very lovable. That, coupled with what sounds like a definitive goodbye, makes the tears come. He doesn't want to cry. But he can't stop it. He can't ever stop it anymore.

Does he love Antoine too? He doesn't know. A part of him knows it would be sick to love a man who bought him and made him into a horse. A part of him can't stand the thought of being anywhere but with this man who does everything for him.

Antoine wraps his arms around Derek and holds onto him in silence. When a light knock sounds at the door and it's opened, only then does his Master let go.

"Master, please. I can take care of you." Derek tries one more time.

Charlie pulls Derek off of the bed and Derek looks to his Master to see that Antoine is crying too. "Let me take care of you, Derek, as it should be. Go with Charlie."

"Follow me, pet." Charlie says.

"Go." Antoine adds.

Derek stares at his Master for a long moment before he makes himself do as he's told. With his hands clasped behind his back, he's led downstairs. In the foyer he's surprised to find Martin... and Nick. Martin is smiling at him. Nick is resolute and unreadable as always. There are some guards from the Gallery there too, four of them.

Derek is still crying. Why is he crying? Why can't he stop?

"You're to go with them." Charlie says.

Sara enters the room with a tote and passes it off to Martin. "These are the foods he's used to eatin'. You'll feed him three times a day."

"Thank you." Martin says with a nod. "Antoine sent us an email of details about how he's to be treated. We'll try to keep his routine as normal as possible."

"Good then." Sara looks over to Derek. "You'll be a good pet then, won't you Derek? Your Master will get well and you'll be back and things will be right as rain."

Derek notices that she doesn't sound entirely convinced of that. He wants to stay. He wants to stay so bad. He hates that he wants to stay.

Instead, he agrees with her with a nod. "Yes, Madame."

It doesn't matter what he wants. He's led outside to a large RV. He's ushered inside. Two of the guards sit up front to drive and sit in the passenger seat. The other two sit close to the door. Derek, Martin and Nick move back to a comfortable sitting area with couches and chairs. There's a pallet on the floor. Derek automatically kneels on it.

He's still crying.

The RV starts moving, taking him away from his Master. He tries to lean up and stretch his neck to see out of the windows but the shades have been drawn down.

One of the guards up front speaks into a phone, telling someone they're en route across country to the airport. Derek tries to listen in for anything more detailed, but suddenly there's a hand beneath his chin, pulling his attention to Nick.

Nick stares at him for a moment. "You're okay." He says, his thumb swiping away and catching some of those tears on Derek's cheeks. "Your Master did the right thing for you. Don't think it was easy for him. You're okay."

"Do you think he's broken?" Martin asks from behind him.

Still looking Derek over, Nick shakes his head. "No. Close, but no." Nick considers Derek for a moment, then tilts his head, the impression of a smile on his features even though he doesn't really smile. "I like what he did to your eyes. Is that tattoo around them?"

"Yes, Sir." Derek whispers. He's so used to it by now that he sometimes forgets that it's there.

"It looks good. You look good." Nick says approvingly. Then he pulls his hand away.

"He's always been beautiful. I'd like to see the fire back in his eyes." Martin says.

Nick shakes his head. "He's just sad, worried, scared. Once he gets settled back in the harem, he'll be fine."

Martin's hand pets his mane. The braids are long now, hanging down his back to between his shoulder blades. That hand then clasps the back of his neck and guides Derek over to rest his cheek against his thigh. His mane is petted some more. "You'll get to see your old friends. They're excited to see you."

Dare, Lily, Jai... Derek has only just now thought of the fact that he gets to see them. That helps a little bit. He'll see them for awhile and then, when his Master is better, he can go back to him, back to where he should be.

"You're okay." Nick interjects into Derek's thoughts.

They fall quiet, all of them. At some point Derek's tears thankfully stop. When the RV stops to refuel, Derek wishes he could see out of the windows, but he can't. They're heading to an airport, that's all he knows. But the shades are kept drawn over the windows so that Derek can only see the light of day around them.

When night falls, Martin has Derek suck him off. Then Derek does the same for Nick. He's told to lie down on the floor between them and he does. For a long time he only dozes. Eventually though, exhaustion wins out. Derek sleeps and it never occurs to him to try to run.

He's a good pet.

 

* * *

 

A loud crash wakes Derek up. Derek feels like he's flying, rolling, tumbling, falling. 

At first he thinks he's dreaming, but his body slamming into ground floor things on the RV tells him the RV is really rolling. He's on the ceiling. He's on the wall. He's on the floor. 

His head is hit hard and then his mind is spinning counter clock wise to the world of the RV.

"Derek!" Nick is calling out for him, but Nick's voice sounds strained. "Oh, fuck me."

The world stops spinning. Everything stops. Gravity says that the RV is on its side. Derek's head hurts.

Something metal is sticking through Martin's chest and the man is trying to move, but can't. Nick is down the hallway, thrown so far away. Derek sees Nick trying to crawl toward him but his leg is contorted in a way it shouldn't be. A groan sounds from the front of the RV. The guards.

"We've been hit. There's been a.... ah man, I'm bleeding. There's been an accident. Crash."

Derek hears these words from one of the guards up front. He hears voices calling from outside of the RV. Derek's head hurts.

Sirens. Derek hears sirens. The guard is still rambling off words into a phone.

Nick is on top of him. "Derek? Derek can you hear me?"

Derek's head hurts.

"You're okay. You're okay, pet." Is the last thing Derek hears before he passes out.

 

* * *

When Hotch first got the phone call, he couldn't believe it. An RV hit by an eighteen-wheeler? Two dead, five injured. Martin Himinez, one of the deceased, pinged WANTED with the Canadian authorities. Martin Himinez, one of the men who had escaped with Carl Buford almost a year ago.

Derek has been missing for almost a year. This is their first big break.

Aaron knows it's too much to ask for, but he asks after the victims. Three of them fled the hospital before they could get an ID. Two are still in custody. One man has a leg broken in three parts. Another was completely naked on the scene.

The naked man has a lion tattoo on his shoulder.

Convincing the others to stay back was a chore. In the end it's just him and Rossi who travel to the Canadian hospital. They meet with a doctor there.

"Doctor Reynard, I'm SSA Hotchner, this is SSA Rossi with the FBI. We're here for-"

"Derek Morgan. He's unwell, Agents." The doctor starts off down the hallway. Aaron and David follow.

"Unwell how?" Rossi asks.

"We've had to strap him down to keep him from getting out of bed and laying on the floor. Also to keep him from taking the hospital gown off." The doctor says. "He suffered a concussion, broken wrist and fractured ribs in the crash. His blood tests came back with a high concentration of a sexual enhancement drug. Other than that, he seems to have been well taken care of."

"We'd like to see him."

"Of course. He's yours." It's said as if the doctor can't wait to get Derek off his hands. It doesn't sit well with Hotch. "The man with the broken leg, Nick, he's being given over to the FBI as well."

They're led to a room where the Doctor leaves them alone. Rossi eyes Hotch. "I didn't much care for him."

"Me either." Hotch says quietly.

He pushes open the door and together they enter a dimly lit room. A man lies in the bed and it takes Hotch a moment to recognize him as Derek. There are dark shadows around his eyes. Is that makeup? His hair is shaved strangely.

"Derek."

The man in the bed stirs, and when he opens his eyes, Hotch can see Derek in them.

"May I please you, Sir?" Derek shifts, half-heartedly pulling at his restraints.

Hotch remembers Marissa, Marissa of whom he's visited with too many times to count to try to get information about the Gallery. She always asks him that. Hearing it from Derek leaves a heavy weight in his stomach.

"No, thank you." He says, placing a hand in Derek's and holding on tight. "We're taking you home."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are love!


End file.
